


Lyrics on Postcards

by louciferish



Series: Rebels and Consorts [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Dancing, Diplomacy, Engagement, Epistolary, Happy Ending, I Will Go Down With This Literal Ship, Katsuki Yuuri's Victor Nikiforov Posters, Light Angst, M/M, Portraits, Rings, Vicchan Lives, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, Victor and Yuuri are drama factories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-05-16 16:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: Following a whirlwind evening with a mysterious stranger in his arms, Prince Victor Nikiforov has finally uncovered the man's identity as none other than Prince Yuuri of Katsu. After "borrowing" a ship and a crew from his parents, he sets off to the island kingdom with one mission in mind: a formal request to court Queen Hiroko's only son.When an unexpected development throws a wrench in his plans, Victor is left with only a week to set things right, or else risk losing any chance he ever had with Yuuri.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beep beep, here comes more royalty AU.
> 
> Please expect tags to change somewhat. I'll remind folks on each chapter just in case, but I can guarantee I won't be changing or adding any Archive Warnings, just character tags and such. If you think I need to tag something/someone and I haven't, just let me know.
> 
> Beta assistance by [stars-gleam](http://stars-gleam.tumblr.com).
> 
> This title (and Vanity Fairgrounds as well) stolen from "Go or Go Ahead" by Rufus Wainwright

_Dearest Mother and Father,_

_I hope my letter finds you well. I meant to write sooner, but it has taken me longer than I anticipated to adjust to life at sea. I won’t bore you with the details of my first two days on the ship, but suffice it to say I saw very little of the upper decks in the beginning._

_In contrast, Christophe seems to have been born with his sea legs. I expected to bear the brunt of his tongue over this situation, but Chris has not been his usual effusive self on the voyage, despite his good health._

_Some foolish part of me was hoping that being at sea, free of the bonds of our stations, we could reconnect. I don’t know what I expected, really. I suppose it was silly to think we can become as children again on a whim, simply by leaving home for a brief stint._

_I managed to take the air on deck for the first time this evening without fear of falling or becoming ill. The night sky truly is incredible out here. There is no land in sight, and the stars blanket out in every direction overhead, touching the sea at the edges of the world. It is beautiful and terrifying._

_No matter what I find in Katsu, I’m glad I was able to see this._

_Your son,  
Victor_

-

There’s a quiet knock at the door to his cabin, and Victor hastily covers the letter with a blank page. Hopefully the ink is dry enough and won’t smear. “Come in,” he calls.

The door opens just a bit and Chris sticks his head through. “Ah, I’m glad to see you’re up and looking far less green,” he says. He pushes the door open the rest of the way and lets himself in, leaning back against the wall. “The Captain mentioned that you’d finally ventured out of your room.”

“Yes. It was still a bit iffy, but I think the sea air helped with the nausea.” Victor drums his fingers on the desk, watching Chris’ posture. His coloring is good and he hasn’t so much as a button or a curl out of place, yet something is off about his manner still. 

“The Captain also said you’ve expressed an interest in astronomy and navigation?”

Victor smiles, looking down at his boots for a moment. “I’m not about to run off to a monastery or join the navy, if you’re concerned. Yuuri told me the stars are different in Katsu. I’d like to be able to see the difference for myself.”

He looks up and finds Chris has turned away. In profile, his face is impassive. He says nothing.

“Chris,” Victor begins, then stops himself. What he wants to say is, What happened? He wants to ask if Chris is feeling himself, if he’s sad, or if he truly wanted to come along on this journey. He licks his lips, trying to find the words, but trips over protocol. Chris looks at him and raises his eyebrows. “I think… I might be able to keep a bit of real food down now,” he says. Coward.

Yet Victor’s marginal effort is rewarded with the hint of a smile. “Too bad,” Chris says, though he holds the door open for Victor anyway. “If it’s real food you’re wanting, you won’t find any on this ship. You should have dropped one of the canons overboard and brought Cook along instead.”

Chris claps Victor on the shoulder as he passes through the door toward the galley. Was he only upset because Victor was sick? Or had he imagined the coldness entirely? He makes a note to pay more attention to Chris while he has the chance.

-

_Dear Mama and Father,_

_Hopefully you know the gist of what happened today by the time these letters reach you, but you may not be aware of the details._

_Christophe and I were on the upper deck at midday, learning a bit about navigation from our good Captain, when we heard a great ruckus from below. Many of the sailors drew weapons, and all on board ran to the deck to see what caused such a clamor._

_What we found was the ship’s cook, dragging a stowaway from below deck by the ear. Although he looked rather more bedraggled than usual, Chris and I immediately recognized the culprit and sheathed our swords._

_I was distressed at the time, but I can’t say I hold much sympathy for Yura’s plight now. He had apparently holed up in a storage area where galley supplies were being kept. I don’t think the best seamstress in Nikiv could possibly repair his shirt and doublet from the tears and stains, but he seems quite well-fed and unharmed aside from his dignity._

_It took some persuading to convince the men not to throw him overboard at first, for which I hope he’s grateful, but once the cook discovered **who** he was manhandling, he was quite apologetic. _

_Our first thought was to send Yura back to you as soon as we landed, but the Captain is reluctant to make an early return voyage simply to return one especially wayward royal. Instead, Yura has been put up in a hammock in the corner of my cabin for the rest of the journey. I know he’ll face dire consequences for this adventure when he returns, but in the meantime, all I can do is endeavor to keep him safe and return him to his grandfather whole and healthy._

_Your son,  
Victor_

_P.S. - The Captain will be continuing our navigation lessons once night has fallen. I look forward to learning more about the movement of the stars. Mama, I know you will be the one reading these letters. Please tell Father that I learned new things on this journey. I hope one day to say this experience helped to make me a good king._

-

 

Victor never knew either of his grandfathers, but he’s heard many dull stories of laws they passed and diplomatic missions they went on. Sometimes, he knows, their actions led to war. Who knew the causes of war could be so tedious? 

Instead, he likes to picture that his grandfathers would have been like the Captain of the _Stammi Vicino_. The Captain is still brawny and active despite his age, and keeps a tight hand on his own ship where many men would have stepped back to rest on their laurels. He has a neat grey beard that reminds Victor very much of his father, and he’s equally serious-minded, but can be jovial when the situation calls for it.

Perhaps it’s Victor’s station that makes the man so eager to please, but regardless of the cause, Victor finds himself relaxing on the journey, knowing that capable hands are guiding him to the destination.

He’s leaning on the railing near the helm, drawing a simple map of the constellations overhead as the Captain names them off: _aries, lyra, orion, canus_. Soft music rises up over the sound of the waves slapping against the hull and Victor lifts his head, tuning out the Captain’s words for a time.

Yura is sitting on the deck, his back against the mast and a fiddle set to his chin. He snuck on board with nothing, so he must have borrowed it from one of the sailors. The tune is sad but unfamiliar, a far cry from the more raucous songs Victor has heard the crew playing in the evenings. As Victor watches, the ship’s mate reaches into his jacket and pulls out a tin whistle. He lifts it to his lips and adds a second, lilting voice to Yura’s song. 

Yura’s bow arm hesitates for a split second, then he picks up the song again, improvising along to the new, jauntier tune of the whistle. The first mate bows slightly, and then they’re off. Soon, Victor sees others on the ship creeping off to their berths, then returning with instruments of their own. 

Victor looks back and finds the Captain has returned to steering the ship. Chris holds out his hand, and Victor rolls up his star map. He nods down to the musicians below. “I think this is the most I’ve seen Yura socialize in ages,” he says. “I hate to say it, but this little adventure might be good for him.”

Chris hums in agreement as he takes Victor’s pen and parchment, stowing them away in his kit. “I think he may have even made a friend. That could be a first.”

“I’m his friend,” Victor retorts, but Christophe just stares back at him, impassive. Victor looks back down at the main deck, where the first mate is now sitting against the mast as well, side by side with Yura. “What’s that man’s name again?”

Chris heaves a sigh, but Victor ignores the judgement in his tone. He can remember names when he must, so what’s the fuss about? “Altin,” Chris supplies, and Victor’s eyebrows reach for his hairline. “The other men call him Beka.”

He stares down at Altin again, considering what features he can make out at this distance: his black hair, his stature, and the angle of his jaw. “He does have an Alta look about him, but what’s he doing as first mate on a Nikiv naval ship?”

“Probably illegitimate,” Chris says, shrugging. “Or the offspring of one. The Altins are rumored to be a prolific line.”

“Interesting,” Victor says, leaning on the rail again to watch the sailors cavorting in the lamplight. Altin leans closer to Yura, and Victor can’t hear the words, but in the flickering light he can trace the ghost of a smile on his cousin’s face. Very interesting. 

-

_Dear ones,_

_The Captain reported at breakfast this morning that Katsu has been sighted! I ran to the helm to see for myself, but was disappointed to find only the sea stretched out before me, barely distinguishable from the blue of the sky at the horizon line. Apparently the land is only visible with a spyglass, and from the crow’s nest at that._

_I’ll admit, I was ready and willing to climb the rigging for a chance to see it, but my attempts were thwarted by the Captain, Chris, and a few crew members. I suppose I can’t blame them for not wanting to risk a fall, but now that I’m more used to life on a ship, I feel like I’m missing part of the experience if I don’t climb higher than the deck._

_Yura scales the mast like a lynx and taunts me from above, so if you were worried that this experience would change him, fear not. He remains himself, albeit with a new friend. He’s formed a tentative alliance with the first mate, and I often catch the two deep in conversation, though they quickly stop talking whenever I appear._

_Now that my seasickness has passed, my primary complaint on the voyage is Yura’s snoring. He says I snore too, but I know that to be a blatant lie._

_I do miss the food on dry land, and you of course. Please give my darling Makkachin an apple for me, and make sure the grooms are still exercising her regularly in my absence._

_We should be anchoring in port in the next day or so. ~~I’m frightened.~~ I will write you again as soon as we arrive, and I know more about ~~if~~ when we will be returning._

_Your son,  
Victor_

-

Yakov had made his feelings clear when Victor announced he was leaving; Katsu is a nowhere, a backwater, a land with no culture compared to the riches of kingdoms like Nikiv. Victor’s toes haven’t even graced Katsu’s shores, and he already knows that his tutor was wrong. 

As their rowboat wobbles toward the docks, Chris keeps having to tug at Victor’s belt loops, forcing him to sit down before he tips them over by lurching to his feet for a better view. Everything is so different here! The docks swarm with fishermen and women, calling to each other in a foreign tongue as they unload heavy nets full of wriggling sea creatures unlike any Victor has seen before.

The Captain has them wait on the pier as he and first mate Altin go to find a local guide who can lead them to the castle, and Victor takes the opportunity to creep closer to one of the small boats. A slight, dark-haired man on the dock is struggling to haul up a bucket with his catch, and Victor leans in to see what’s inside. This time, it’s Yura who yanks him away by his coattails just as the bucket sloshes, spilling a briney mix of water, blood, and entrails where Victor’s shoes had been.

Before Victor can get himself into any more trouble, the Captain and Altin return with a teenage girl. She and the first mate exchange a few words in the local language, and she points up the street. Victor finally tears his eyes away from the fishermen, up the winding dirt path, to the cluster of brown and white houses. Perched above it all, at the top of a hill, is a tall, white building with layer upon layer of dramatic peaked rooftops and alcoves. 

It looks nothing like the castles and keeps Victor has seen in Nikiv and Pliset, but it is undeniably a palace. Altin turns back to the Captain to translate their instructions, but Victor walks right past him, setting off for the castle, and leaves the others to follow.

Once he crests the hill, he stops to wait beneath the sweeping gateway arch that stands just before the castle steps. There are no guards or fortifications to stop him from walking right in, but he straightens the lines of his jacket and brushes his fingers through his hair.

Yura is already scowling as he, Chris, and Altin huff their way up the last stretch of hill. “What made you stop now? Why not just sprint all the way into the throne room without us?” Yura folds his arms and wrinkles his nose. “I still think I should stay on the ship.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Victor says. “Chris and I aren’t letting you out of our sight after what you pulled, sneaking onto the ship in the first place. Besides, I had to wait for you.” He smooths down his jacket once more. “I need your help. I don’t have a mirror with me to check my hair.”

“Your hair looks stupid, as always,” Yura says, rolling his eyes. “And you probably smell like a dead fish.”

“Oh no! Check for me,” Victor says, reaching out to give his cousin a hug. Yura zips away, hiding behind first Chris, then Altin. 

Christophe leans in instead and gives Victor’s neck a brief sniff. “You smell no more like a dead thing than you normally do,” he reports, deadpan.

“Thank you very much,” Victor drawls, dropping his arms. He looks back, up the last little flight of steps, to the ornate double doors which may be the last barrier between Victor’s bachelorhood and his future. His pulse quickens at the thought. He may be presenting himself to his mother-in-law for the first time. He fusses with the hem of his jacket again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Yura mutters. He marches right past Victor, and up the stairs. That lights a fire under Victor’s feet, and he stretches his stride to catch up, taking the steps two at a time.

They push through the double doors to find an empty hall. Victor can hear voices somewhere nearby, talking and laughing. He turns to look at Chris, but his advisor looks as puzzled as Victor feels. 

“The girl I spoke to at the docks said they’d be having court hours right now,” Altin says, frowning. “We should be in the right place.”

There’s little choice but to follow the sounds and see where they lead. Victor starts down the hallway, trying to locate the voices over the soft tapping of their boots on the bare wood floor. 

He traces the origin of the sound to one of the many paper doors. Unlike the other doorways they passed, this one is ornately painted, a silver-white mountain rising in the distance above the curl of waves cresting in a gentle blue sea. Victor gives the door a little push, and it glides open.

The room is full of people, all seated on woven mats spread out across the floor. The space is littered with short tables, rugs, and cushions. There’s no dais, and there’s no throne. Victor steps into the room, and the conversation fades to silence, all eyes turned to see the strangers.

Victor swallows. He’s used to being the center of attention, but this is different. He’s intimately aware of how tailored his clothes are in comparison to the soft silhouettes of the locals. He feels like a peacock who has strutted into a pheasant roost by mistake. 

A small, plump woman rises from one of the tables at the center of the room. “Hello,” she says cheerfully. “Are you lost?”

“Yes, thank you.” Victor stammers, brushing imaginary dust from his pants. “We’re looking for the throne room.” Pain blooms in his side, and Victor turns to glare at Chris, who is bent at the waist in a bow.

Victor looks back at the woman. At the base of her bun, he can see a glimmer of silver that forms a thin circlet. His face heats as he quickly bows as well. How could he have known? It’s so different. Everything is so different.

He waits until the flames in his cheeks have been banked before straightening once more to face the _queen_.

When he looks up, he finds that others are now standing as well. Next to the queen is a man, his gentle face care-worn and tanned, who must be the Prince-Consort. Beside him stands a woman about Victor’s age with ombre brown hair pulled back beneath another simple circlet. She has her hands on her hips and a disapproving twist to her mouth. 

There’s a low murmur from the others seated near the royal family, and then someone else rises. Victor’s chest clenches as he turns his eyes from the queen. It’s the same black hair he remembers, and the same burning dark eyes he’s been dreaming of all week. The cheekbones are even the same, flushed with the attention even from across the room. The carefree smile is gone, but Victor knows it’s only hiding.

Yuuri’s eyes are wide behind his glasses, and he murmurs, “ _Victor_?”

Regardless of any comments Chris has made about Victor and his “impulses,” he didn’t come all the way here without a plan. He was to present himself at court, kneeling before the central dais like any humble penitent, and plead with the queen formally for her blessing to court her son.

But there’s no formal court here, and there’s certainly no dais. When Yuuri stands, and when Victor sees him, in person, for the first time outside the ball, the last vestige of the plan smashes through the double doors at the back of Victor’s head, and it screams, _kneel_.

And that is how Victor finds himself on his knees, his hands clasped before him, announcing to the entire assembly, “Katsuki Yuuri, I’ve come to court you.”

The silence that follows his words is deafening. 

Yuuri covers his mouth with both hands as if physically holding in a response. 

Queen Hiroko turns to her son, a questioning tilt to her head. “Yuuri?” 

The name alone is enough to shatter some invisible barrier. Yuuri drops his hands, turns, and flees. Victor can only watch him as he dashes through a door on the other side of the room and disappears. His knees are beginning to ache.

The queen shakes her head and sighs, but her soft smile never wavers. As Victor continues to kneel, watching the doorway through which Yuuri just vanished, she picks her way through the room to reach him. 

Victor raises his eyes to hers as she comes to stand before him. She’s so small that he doesn’t have to strain his neck. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she bends down and presses her forehead against Victor’s own. He sucks in a breath. Her kind eyes and gentle smile, so like Yuuri’s, pull him out of his doubts.

She straightens and steps back, and Victor takes the cue to regain his feet. “My apologies,” he says, finally remembering his manners. “I didn’t mean to upset anyone.”

Queen Hiroko flaps a hand at him, stopping his words. “None of that,” she says. “You have nothing to apologize for. Victor, is it?” She squints as if peering at a bit of writing on a far wall. “Prince Victor Nikiforov. We’re not very formal here. I’m afraid my court etiquette is rusty.”

“Not at all,” Victor says quickly. “You may call me whatever you like, please. Victor is fine.”

“Good, good.” Her smile is blinding, and, dazed, he finds himself thinking that she might be the most beautiful woman he’s ever met. “Don’t worry about that boy, Victor. Sometimes it’s hard, getting what you want.”

She looks back over her shoulder and calls out, “Mari!” The princess gives Victor a stiff nod and starts toward the same doorway Yuuri had exited through. “Mari will show you to Yuuri. The two of you should talk.” 

Victor opens his mouth to protest, but the queen waves her hands at him in a shooing motion, and Princess Mari clearly isn’t waiting around until Victor decides, since she’s already through the door. He scrambles to catch up.

It takes effort to catch up to Mari’s determined stride, but she doesn’t say a word to him when he appears at her side. She stays focused straight ahead as she guides him down the halls and around corners until he’s utterly lost. Had they taken a right turn at the tiger mural, or was that a left at the carved wooden cranes? He’s still trying to remember how he’s going to get back when he bumps up against something.

The princess has her arm extended like a bar across the middle of his chest. She drops it and turns to him, leaning up against the wall. “Yuuri will be in his rooms,” she says, jerking her head to the side to indicate the door he needs. When he tries to move past her, she stops him again with a hand on his chest. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Victor frowns at her, baffled. “I thought the queen wanted me to speak to Yuuri.”

“No,” Mari’s mouth twists to a deeper frown. “I mean what are you doing _here_? What are you doing in Katsu?”

“I came to court Yuuri,” he repeats, slowly. Did she not hear him before? He’s certain half the world heard him.

Mari shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “Nevermind,” she says, pushing off from the wall. “You’re suited to each other after all. Just be careful with him, okay? If you hurt him, I know people.”

Victor nods, but Mari is already strolling back down the hall. She makes a left at the wooden cranes. He files that away for later, and slowly pushes open the nondescript paper door.

He doesn’t see any sign of Yuuri. The room is neat, but decorated with some attention. Tapestries and scrolls hang on the walls, giving the space a warmer feeling than Victor expected from the simple decor outside. There’s a low table on the floor, a small sofa, and a desk in the corner. There’s also a piano, which catches Victor by surprise. The familiar instrument looks out of its element among the traditional Katsu style of the room.

A strange scratching noise piques his attention, and he searches for the source. The smallest, fluffiest little dog that Victor has ever seen comes around the corner of the sofa, and he gasps. “Hello,” Victor coos. He steps fully into the room, drops to his knees on the woven mats, and holds his hand out to the tiny creature. “Hello, baby, who are you?”

The little dog tilts its head at Victor, then trots closer. It gives his fingers a sniff, but ducks away before Victor can touch the curls on its head, darting back behind the sofa. He stands, peeking around the furniture to see where it went, and spots another door standing ajar.

There’s something strange on the floor in the other room, silver and blue and oddly familiar. He steps closer, angling for a better view. The slim, feathered blue shape is meaningless at first, half-hidden behind the door, until he puts in in context with a curl of silver hair and the curve of a pale hand. 

Victor rushes to the door to confirm what he’s seeing, and stares. Indeed, leaning up against the wall is a portrait he knows too well. “You have my picture,” Victor gasps. 

Yuuri, lying on the bed against the far wall, sits up with a strangled half-scream. His face is as white as the walls beneath tousled black hair. “What are you doing here?” he sputters. The little dog hops back off the bed and runs over to Victor, standing up to put both paws on his leg. 

Victor reaches down to stroke the soft fur of its head with two fingers, but he can’t stop staring around the room. “That portrait is from my eighteenth year,” he says, shocked. His eyes slide along the wall to the next one: the white one, with the polar bear. “That one is from two years ago.” Against the far wall, a distinctive flash of red and gold catches his attention. “Oh my god,” he gasps. “Is that the first one?”

Yuuri groans and buries his face in the mattress, but Victor walks right past him to pick up the picture that drew his eye. In it, Victor’s hair is pulled back into a braid, the tip of which just brushed the nape of his neck. His eyes look huge beneath his pale lashes, and his face is rounder. The painter had tinged his cheeks with a hint of pink, like a cherub from a cathedral ceiling, and the soft coloring of his face is at odds with the harsh, formal lines of the livery he’s wearing. 

It’s the first time he’s seen this one in ages, but just looking at it brings to mind the scrape of the rough wool uniform against his shoulders, the way his hands had cramped from clutching at his knees for the whole sitting, and the warm tingle of his scalp when he finally took the tight braid out at the end of the day. 

His mother had done the braid herself, pulling and twisting the strands together until not a single stray hair could be found, and she’d helped take it down as well, gently massaging his head as he leaned back against her knees and let her tend to him once more like a little child.

When he turns back to the bed, Yuuri has pulled his face up from the pillows and propped himself on his elbows. He’s watching Victor, and this time he doesn’t look away when Victor makes eye contact.

“I was only sixteen here,” Victor says.

“I know.”

He looks back down at the painting. The child in the portrait is a stranger. He looks even younger than Yura. Victor shakes his head. “I knew I was scared. I just never realized how well the artist captured that.” He sets the picture back on the floor.

When Victor looks back at him, Yuuri looks away again. “What are you doing here?” he mutters into his own shoulder.

“‘Here’ as in Katsu, or ‘here’ in your room with your secret stash of copies of my face?”

“Either,” Yuuri says. He rolls onto his back, and the dog jumps up onto his chest and lies down. He strokes its brown curls absently. “Both.”

“I told you,” Victor repeats once more. Rather than try to keep the frustration out of his voice, he forces a peppy, cheerful tone. “I came here to court you. When you left after I announced myself, I came back here to apologize for upsetting you, but-” 

He gestures to the walls around them and the portraits stacked like kindling. “All this, and you never courted me?” Despite his effort, his voice breaks on the question. He pauses to swallow, smoothing it out once more. Getting upset won’t do any good. Instead, he winks and cocks his hip. “What, Yuuri, you like me better stiff and up against the wall?”

Yuuri sits up on the bed, gathering the dog against his chest as he shakes his head frantically. “It’s not like that,” he protests. His embarrassed blush doesn’t look quite the same as the flush of excitement he’d worn at the ball, but it’s still gratifying and familiar. “We sent a portrait.”

“ _One_ portrait, and not even a very good one.”

“I only have one,” Yuuri snaps, then drops his eyes. He puts the dog down, and it jumps off the bed, trotting off to curl up on a cushion in the corner. “That was the only one we could send, when I came of age. When there was no response…” he shrugs, trailing off. “Katsu to Nikiv is a long journey to make, just to get rejected.”

Victor bites the ‘I know’ off the tip of his tongue. Not helpful. “I don’t understand,” he admits. “With all this, I know you’re interested. Why not try? If you couldn’t present yourself at court, or you couldn’t send a portrait, at the very least you could write a letter.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “You’re right. You don’t understand. I can’t court you. I’m nobody.”

Yuuri looks up sharply when Victor laughs. “You’re a prince too, aren’t you? I believe that means we’re on the same level.” He steps toward the bed and reaches out, tilting Yuuri’s face up with a single finger curled beneath his chin. “Don’t talk like you’re a commoner or something.”

Yuuri jerks his head back, ducking out of Victor’s grasp. “My father is a commoner,” he says. “Or he was. Katsu isn’t wealthy. We have no army, and no exports. You’ve turned down courting delegations from Crispin, Roy, and Bin.” He cuts himself off, clearly flustered, and his tone turns pleading. “What could I possibly offer you?”

“You are so stubborn,” Victor says, amused. Yuuri’s amber eyes carry a spark that Victor can’t look away from. The circumstances are different, but there’s no doubting that this is the same passionate man he danced with at the ball. He takes a deep breath to compose himself, tossing his hair back out of his face.

“Let’s not make this so complicated,” he suggests, holding his hands out, palms up. “Yuuri, I very much enjoyed dancing with you at Yura’s party. I would like to do it again. I’m not asking you to sign a marriage contract tonight. I’m only asking for the opportunity to know you better. Would you allow it?”

Yuuri’s hair falls over his eyes as he looks away. Victor starts to reach out, tempted to brush it away, and restrains himself, pinching at the fabric of his trousers to busy his fingers instead. The silence stretches out between them, broken only by the soft shuffling of Yuuri’s dog resettling on the cushions.

“I can’t,” Yuuri says at last, barely above a whisper. His voice cracks on the vowel.

Victor’s hands still. “Oh.” His father was right. He’s been too impulsive. 

“I…,” Yuuri’s face is still half-hidden by dark hair and shadows, but his voice is trembling. His fingers spasm against the bedspread. “I’m already engaged.” 

-

Victor’s face hurts by the time the serving girl shows him to the door of his rooms. Nevertheless, he keeps the polite smile plastered across his face as she chatters at him, just as he was taught. She stops outside a paper doorway with an elaborate mountainscape painted on the wall beside it. 

“Sorry about the space issues,” she says, bowing. 

“It’s fine,” Victor says, still smiling. “I’m sure it’s lovely.” All he wants is for the girl to leave. Once he’s alone, then he can indulge everything below the surface of his face.

She finally sets off down the hallway, and Victor heaves a sigh as he turns, pushing the door open.

The first thing he sees is Christophe, pushing his little wire frame glasses up his nose as he peers closely at one of the tapestries on the wall. “What are you doing?” Victor blurts out. 

Yura props his feet up on the arms of the low sofa, boots and all. “He thinks they gave us a room with naughty pictures,” he says scornfully.

“They’re not ‘naughty pictures’,” Chris says, removing his glasses. “They’re _nudes_. Or at least, I thought they might be. It turns out the woman in this piece is just very pale.”

Chris looks Victor up and down, tucking his spectacles away in his pocket. “Oh, dear. Bad news?”

Victor runs a hard down his face, wiping away the last trace of his public smile. “Yes. If you don’t mind, I’d like a little privacy.”

Yura snorts. “Good luck with that. Apparently there’s only one available guest room in this lousy palace. You’re stuck with us, unless you’d like to send me back to the ship for the week, _like I said_.” 

Chris snatches up a cushion from the couch and throws it at Yura’s head. “You can have the bedroom, Victor,” he says, and gestures at a mattress on the floor. “They brought that in for me, so I can sleep out here.”

“What?” Yura squawks, sitting up. “If I have to stay here, that bed is mine!”

“You’re the smallest. You can sleep on the sofa.”

“I outrank you!”

“Age before beauty,” Chris says, smirking.

“Please,” Victor interrupts, because otherwise they’ll spiral on forever. “I don’t care where you sleep, although I’d prefer you not do it here, and Yura, for the final time, you can’t stay on the ship all week. I promised to look after you.”

Chris drops his teasing smile. He crosses the room to Victor and, to his credit, only hesitates for a moment before laying a comforting hand on Victor’s shoulder. “What happened? Katsuki refused you?”

“Worse,” Victor moans. Chris pushes him gently toward the sofa, and he drops down on the plush cushions. Yura snatches his legs up to his chest in order to avoid being sat on. “He’s already contracted with someone else. That’s why he was in Nikiv to begin with, to ask _my parents_ to approve his engagement to someone else. His fiance arrives in a week to begin the wedding arrangements.”

Chris hums, and Victor can almost see his fingers itching to consult a book. “If they needed your parents’ blessing, then the fiance must be a subject of Nikiv. You could order them to break the engagement.”

“No!” Victor’s jaw clenches at the idea. He doesn’t know Yuuri well, but he sees the fire in him. There’s a determined, independent side to Yuuri, despite his shyness, and Victor likes that. Ordering Yuuri around, pushing him that way, it would do Victor no good. “Aside from the horrifying optics of that for my other subjects, it would be devastating for Katsu. What if I start a conflict? Katsu has no resources, no army,” he shakes his head. “It could ruin them.”

“‘Conflict’?” Yura snorts and waves his hand in the air. “You’re the ruler, or you will be. You tell them what to do, and they do it.”

“His fiance is the Duke of Popov,” Victor says, and watches as Chris and Yura both pale. 

Victor doesn’t remember the specifics. History was never his strongest subject in study - too many details to keep in order, but what he recalls goes like this: a young woman was being courted by both the Duke of Popov and the King of Pliset. The Duke was madly in love with her, and gave her extravagant courting gifts of horses, jewels, and even property inside his own lands. But in the end, whether for status or love, the woman chose to marry Pliset.

That had been Yura’s grandmother, and ever since, relations between Pliset and Popov had been complicated at best. Even Nikiv and Pliset had been at odds over the situation, until Aunt Regina had chosen to marry King Yuri. The whole thing was a stack of straw, just waiting to be lit by the next spark.

“So what,” Yura asks, wry. “We’re stuck here for a week, for nothing?”

But Chris takes out his glasses once more and taps a finger on the dimple of his chin. “Perhaps not nothing. Victor, you wanted to get to know Yuuri, correct?” He spreads his hands. “You have your chance. In the time we have, maybe we can come to some solution that will _not_ lead to war.”

“Or,” Yura suggests, poking at Victor’s side with the toe of his boot. “Maybe when you get to know this guy, you’ll realize you hate him, and then we can persuade the Captain to take us home early.”

Victor closes his eyes and lets his head flop onto the back of the sofa. The moments in Yuuri’s room run through his head like water: the portraits, the glow of his eyes, the curve of his cheek, the cute way his nose wrinkled up when he thought something was odd. He knows better than to say any of that out loud. Instead he says, “Did you know he has the most adorable little dog?”

Beside him, Chris heaves a loud sigh. “Good luck with that, Yura.”

-

~~_Dear Mama and Papa,_ ~~

~~_I’m afraid I’ve made a huge mistake-_ ~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor only has six days in Katsu before Yuuri's fiance arrives. Can he convince Yuuri to end the engagement?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay on this! I'm managing a lot of other projects right now as well as my other WIP.
> 
> I've updated the chapter count on this from 3 chapters total to 4 because the "chapter 2" I've been writing for the past month turned out to be _nearly 13k_. Since chapter 1 was 6k, I've split this chapter in half. I should be updating this story again in the next day or two with chapter 3, which just needs editing, and then you can anticipate another few weeks of waiting for chapter 4.

**Day One**

“Victor,” Chris yells for the twentieth time. “Come out of the bedroom, please.”

Victor rolls from his stomach to his back on the bed, gazing into the plain white expanse of the unfamiliar ceiling. “No.”

“You’re a visiting dignitary,” Chris says in the soothing tones of a practiced diplomat. “You need to leave your room and speak to your hosts. You’re being rude.”

“ _You’re_ a visiting dignitary. You do it.”

There’s a quiet, repetitive thumping noise from outside the bedroom door. He hopes Christophe won’t hurt himself too badly. Victor doesn’t want anyone hurt. He also does not want to leave his room and make nice with his never-in-laws the day after having his heart broken.

“Victor,” Chris repeats, urgent through the paper door. “I’ve been trying to keep this quiet, but I really need you to come out here. Yura’s disappeared, and I don’t know where to look.”

Sighing, Victor slides to the end of the bed and stands. He pauses to grab one of the lovely robes his hosts provided, wrapping it around his bare chest for a token effort at modesty, and then walks to the door.

He pauses to gather his reflexes, then slides the door open just enough to peer through the crack. Beyond Chris’ shoulder, he can see Yura’s straw-colored hair peeking over the back of the sofa.

Chris scrambles to get his fingers into the gap, but Victor slams the door shut before he can get purchase. Chris groans.

“Nice try,” Victor says. “You seem to forget we grew up together, Christophe dear. I know exactly how devious you are.”

“I'm nostalgic now. A drink to old times?” Chris suggests.

“Hmmm.” Victor flops back onto the bed, wriggling up between the sheets. “Try again tomorrow.”

**Day Two**

Christophe perks up on the sofa at the sound of the bedroom door sliding open, and proclaims, “The prince lives!”

Victor waves a hand at him and pulls the ties on his robe tighter. “The prince hungers,” he says and yawn, stretching his arms out above his head until the muscles pull tight in his back. “Is there breakfast?”

“I can take you," Chris says. "Yura’s already gone over.”

He stands with a sweeping gesture toward the door, and Victor follows, curious. At home, he has breakfast brought to his rooms, or else he takes the meal in his parents’ chamber to discuss matters with them before court begins. Yesterday, the serving girl - there seems to only be one - had brought him a few odd fruits, rice, and eggs in the morning. He’d picked at the meal all day as he lay in bed, but now his stomach is protesting the neglect.

Chris leads him down a long hall and round a couple turns. Again, Victor is lost. His palace has at least twice as many rooms, but after growing up there he doesn’t have to think twice to navigate the whole building. Here, the strange layout confuses him.

Through a painted double door he can hear people talking and laughing with one another, and the clatter of cutlery on dishes. As Chris is about to open the doors, a thought strikes him: Yuuri may be in there. His heart pounds, and he pulls at the hem of his robe.

Then the door opens, and they step through to a large, open space littered with low tables and cheerful people. The royal family is kneeling at one table - without Yuuri, Victor notes - and the rest of the tables seem to be taken by other members of the household. The serving girl waves enthusiastically to Victor and Chris when she sees them, and Victor returns the gesture with a smile.

Small dishes of food are set at each table, and the whole place smells absolutely heavenly. Chris leads Victor on a winding route among the tables to where Yura kneels beside the royal family. He’s stuffing his face, taking a bit from every serving dish with obvious relish. He doesn't so much as glance up from his plate as they join him.

“Good morning,” Queen Hiroko says. “I hope you’re feeling better?”

Before Victor can ask what she means, Chris interrupts. “He’s much better, thank you. He was only exhausted from the long journey.” He nudges Victor under the table. “Right?”

“Yes,” Victor says, smiling down at the table. “I'm afraid I spent all day in bed. Thank you for understanding.”

“A day in bed,” Prince-Consort Toshiya exclaims. “Sounds like heaven. You’ll need to get your energy up after that, though.” He slides a few of the dishes at the center of the table over to Victor and Chris. “Here, eat. You have a lot of work to do to catch up to your young friend here.”

Yura waves at them dismissively as Chris accepts the proffered dishes with a smile, preparing plates for both of them.

Victor loves Cook. He does. He appreciates what she does, but before coming to Katsu he’d never realized how restrictive his diet at home could be. There are foods here which are familiar in a general sense - fish, rice, vegetables, fruit - but present a bouquet of new flavors. Victor becomes enamored with Katsu’s food as quickly as he did with their prince, and soon he’s abandoned his court manners and falls upon the dishes with a passion to rival Yura. He wants to try as much as he can of everything.

Although he’s stuffed by the time the serving girl comes to take their dishes, he’s disappointed to find that breakfast is ending.

“Toshiya, Mari, and I were going to take a walk through the markets today,” Queen Hiroko says as she rises from her seat, dusting a few lingering grains of sticky rice from her skirts. “We can show you around if you’re interested.”

Yura looks up sharply from where he’s been mopping up the last morsels from his bowl. “Markets? Is there more food?”

The queen pats Yura’s head. It seems that someone has already been adopted. “Yes, of course,” she says.

Chris shakes his head and pushes his spectacles up his nose. “You two are going to gain so much weight by the end of this week that we’ll have to abandon cargo or risk sinking the _Stammi Vincino_.”

Yura, proving that he is now a fully-fledged adult, sticks his tongue out at Chris.

Victor gathers his robe and his dignity to say, “Thank you, Your Highness. We would be honored to accept your offer.”

He feels his cheeks heat as the queen reaches over the table to pat his head as well. “Call me Hiroko,” she says. “We’re family now.”

Not really, Victor thinks. Not yet.

-

After breakfast, Victor is forced to retreat back to his room to finish dressing. Pointed comments from Mari indicate that his borrowed robe is not appropriate for communal spaces such as breakfast, much less public streets.

Once he’s more modestly attired in his shirt and vest, he fumbles his way through the halls until he finally locates the front door. He still would have walked right past it if it weren’t standing wide open.

Outside, Chris and Yura are waiting for him alongside the whole Katsuki family, minus one. “Will Yuuri be joining us?” Victor asks, trying to sound casual.

Mari snorts and shakes her head. Victor may not have been as subtle as he’d hoped. “He can find us if he changes his mind,” she says. “But don’t hold your breath.”

The party makes their way down the hill, wandering back toward the docks. The people of Katsu lean out their windows and doors as they pass through the narrow streets. Whether hanging out wash or chasing their giggling children, each person has time to smile and wave to the royal family. Victor smiles and waves back as well, though that often nets him a puzzled stare. He may look out of place in Katsu, but he feels warm and comfortable among the people.

As they walk, Hiroko draws Victor’s attention to various points of interest in the city, ranging from, “this statue was commissioned 200 years ago to memorialize the eighty-three lives lost in a great storm,” to “and in front of that house is where Yuuri fell and skinned his knee trying to catch a grasshopper when he was three.”

When they reach the seaside, Yura perks up as Otabek joins their party. Soon, the two have their heads together once more, deep in some discussion. Victor can sense he’s better off unaware of the topic; he can only hope the older boy will be a moderating influence on his little cousin.

The markets themselves are a swirl of activity. It reminds Victor more of one of his mother's parties than any part of the city he's ever been to. The air is bright with the sound of laughter, singing, and the happy chatter of neighbors meeting like old friends. Despite their proximity to the sea, the scent of spice, incense, and hot oil emanating from the stalls overwhelms all but the faintest bite of the sharp ocean breeze.

A stooped, grey-bearded man leans over his skiff, attempting to haul a cumbersome net of fish from his boat to the dock on his own. Seeing this, Toshiya pats Hiroko’s shoulder and jogs off to help. Together, the men are able to get the writhing catch onto the shore without losing more than a few small bait fish, and the old man pats his ruler on the back before bowing in respect.

Victor is startled by the familiarity of the touch. Prince-Consort Toshiya was a commoner, Victor reminds himself. Still, Hiroko seems equally comfortable mingling with her people, and when Victor looks over, he finds Mari has wandered off to one of the market stalls and appears to be haggling with a young girl over the price of some cloth.

His confusion must be visible on his face, because Hiroko lays a fond hand on his arm. “Are you uncomfortable? I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about how different this may be for you.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Victor says, pasting on his diplomacy smile. “It is different, but I’m enjoying the experience. At home we only go out in the streets as part of formal celebrations and parades. My parents and I would usually be in a carriage, surrounded by soldiers…” He stops as the smile drops from Hiroko’s face for the first time since his arrival. “This is wonderful,” he finishes. “Thank you for bringing me.”

Hiroko’s smile reappears as if it never left, and she links their arms together as they walk. “Come on, then. Much more to see.”

-

Victor collapses onto the sofa, kicking off his boots as Chris slides the door closed behind them. “Oh my god,” he groans. “I thought I was athletic. I’ve never walked so much in my life.”

“You needed it,” Chris says, crossing the room to drop down beside him. “I doubt you’ve ever eaten so much in your life either.”

“It was all so delicious, though.” Victor had made quite the pig of himself at the market stalls, eager to try a bit of everything. At dinner, Hiroko had even insisted on preparing Yuuri’s favorite foods with her own two hands, though the prince himself was still absent from the dining room.

Victor props his stocking feet on Chris’s lap. “My feet are sore,” he complains, wiggling his toes. “Rub them for me.”

Chris shoves his legs back to the floor and stares Victor down through his long eyelashes. “You’ll have to put in more effort than that if you want me to indulge your foot thing.”

Victor heaves a sigh and lets his head fall against the back of the sofa. Someday he’ll learn how to keep his mouth shut when he’s been drinking.

“It was a good day, though,” he says. “Everyone here is so comfortable among their people.” He lets his head loll to the side, watching Chris’ expression as he asks, “Do you think we could do that in Nikiv?”

Chris raises an eyebrow at him, then leans down to busy himself unlacing his own boots. “Out walking right in the middle of the market like that? I don’t think your parents would approve. Plus, after all these centuries of tradition, it would take time for the people to get used to a shift like that.”

Victor hums in agreement. “I suppose it might be scary to the commoners at first, being so close to their rulers.”

“It would take time for you, too,” Chris says, sotto voce.

“What?” Victor frowns straightens up, but Chris is still bent over his boots, pointing his back toward Victor’s outrage. “I’m comfortable among my people,” Victor says.

“Really?” Chris sits back and meets his outraged look, unflinching. This is exactly why Victor loves and appreciates Chris, except for when he doesn’t. “Name one commoner you’re friends with - _actual_ friends, not just someone you’re aware of, like the stable staff.”

Victor thinks it over for longer than he'd hoped, searching his mind for a familiar face without a noble rank. At last, he finds one. He points at Chris and smirks in triumph. “Cook,” he says. “I’ve known her longer than I’ve known you. She's my friend.”

Chris nods. He looks deferrential, which from Chris means dangerous. “Very well, sire," he says. "Then what’s her first name?”

Victor opens his mouth to respond, then stops. Chris reaches out to touch his chin with one slim finger and his snaps his jaw shut. Victor twists his mouth up in a moue, wrinkles be damned. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone call her anything other than ‘Cook’.”

“But she’s a person,” Chris says. “She’s not an occupation. She has a first name, a surname, and presumably a family she goes home to somewhere. Do you know any of those things?”

Victor looks away and the silence stretches between them. Like a faithful hound, it circles the room thrice, then curls up on the sofa to stay until Victor surrenders, retreating to his bedroom.

**Day Three**

When Victor emerges the next morning, the world still seems to be operating at a slant. His sleep was more restless than he’d care to admit, and he’d wasted even more time than normal fussing with his appearance in the mirror, hoping his rough night wouldn’t show on his face.

When he emerges from his room, Christophe's greeting is cheerful enough, and Victor congratulates himself on a successful effort. Then Yura, still reclining on the sofa, looks up from his book and says with all the grace of a teenager, “What the hell happened to you?”

Victor deflates, grabs his jacket from the hook, and walks past them to head to breakfast on his own.

At least, breakfast was the plan. Instead, he gets turned around in the halls and winds up in a strange, empty room. He stands in the door, puzzled by why this even exists.

“Do you need something?”

Victor jumps at the sudden intrusion and turns to find the serving girl standing behind him, her head tilted in inquiry. “Sorry,” he says. He pastes on a smile, but lets his confusion show through at the edges of the mask. “I’m afraid I still get lost in here. I was trying to find breakfast.”

The girl bows, which makes her ponytail bob jauntily. “You can follow me if you like. I was on my way back.”

As Victor trails behind her, he replays the conversation he had with Chris. Had he really never asked Cook a single question about her life? He doesn’t even know where her family lives, if she has any. “I’m lucky you came along,” he tells the girl. “Or I might have been stuck wandering the halls forever.”

She giggles. “You _were_ lucky then. Normally I’d be in the dining hall throughout breakfast, but one of my daughters isn’t feeling well, so I had to take a break to check in on her.”

“Oh. I hope it’s not serious.”

The girl looks back at him, her brows raised in surprise. “No, it’s probably just a cold, but if one of them gets sick then they all get it. Thank you.”

“This may seem like an abrupt question,” Victor says, taking caution and only hoping he won't cross any lines of politesse. “But, what’s your name?”

“I’m Yuuko,” she says, tilting her head at him again. “Why do you ask?”

“Yuuko,” he draws out the sound of the U. “Tell me about yourself. How long have you worked for the Katsukis? How many children do you have? I want to know _everything_.”

Yuuko flushes from the tip of her nose to the top of her ears, but she starts talking. By the time they reach the double doors into the dining hall, he knows more about her husband and her daughters than he remembers about his own overblown family tree.

“Yuuko,” he says as takes her hand and bends over it, not for a kiss, but to touch his forehead to the back in gratitude. “Thank you for saving me from becoming a restless, hungry spirit.”

“You’re welcome,” she stammers, flushing once more.

Victor turns to open the door, and Yuuko interrupts with a soft. “Prince Victor, I mean- Your highness?” He turns back. Yuuko’s smile is soft, but there’s steel in her eyes. “Sometimes, after breakfast, Yuuri likes to spend his morning in the back garden.”

The smile Victor gives her in return is full of his entire heart. “Thank you again. I’ll keep that in mind.”

As he steps into breakfast, he feels the world set itself to right beneath his feet.

-

The back garden, unlike everything else in this place, is easy enough to find. It’s outside and in the back. Victor may have taken the long way to get there, out the front door and then winding around the perimeter of the palace, but he does find it.

The garden hedges are neat and trim, but stand almost as high as Victor’s head. He can’t see over, nor can he find an entrance anywhere. He follows the perimeter of the hedge, trailing his hand along the leaves as he looks for a gap in the bushes. His hand feels the open air before his eyes can parse it. The entrance is well hidden. The line of foliage would appear unbroken to anyone unfamiliar who might stumble by.

Victor steps through the opening and rounds the corner into a garden that could best any in Nikiv. It’s a wide space carpeted with thick emerald grasses. The borders are planted with flowers and round shrubs covered in blooms of their own. A few fruit trees are scattered through the garden, giving off a rich scent of sweetness, and at the far end, a small fountain burbles into a pond dotted with lilies and splashes of green. 

Yuuri is in the middle of the lawn, his back turned to Victor. His tiny dog is with him, little more than a brown streak through the grass as it darts off after a stick, nearly tumbling nose over tail into the pond in pursuit.

Stick in mouth, it starts to trot back over to Yuuri, then dodges his outstretched arms and dashes over to drop the stick at Victor’s feet instead. “Oh, thank you,” Victor says as he stoops to grab the stick. Before he can get it, the little dog seizes it once again and runs away, back to Yuuri’s arms.

Yuuri scoops the dog up to his chest, watching Victor like a rabbit eyes a fox. “Hello,” he says. “Are you lost?”

“No. A little bird told me this was a nice place to visit after breakfast.” Victor takes a few steps across the lawn, then stops short of Yuuri to ask, “May I join you?”

Yuuri shrugs, and Victor sits down cross-legged on the grass beside him, maintaining a careful distance between them. He frowns down at the ground, plucks a blade of grass, and begins to rip it into shreds. Yuuri is far from comfortable having him here; he can tell. The last thing Victor wants is to be a nuisance, but it seems his only option is to blur a few boundaries if he hopes to speak with Yuuri before the week is out.

Yuuri puts the dog down and tosses the stick again, and the little creature races off.

“What’s the dog’s name?”

Yuuri’s cheeks tinge with pink. He murmurs, “Vicchan,” as if the name were somehow embarrassing. Curious.

“Vicchan,” Victor calls out, sing-song, and reaches out his hand. The dog trots over and sniffs him, but doesn’t release his toy. Victor can feel Yuuri's eyes on him and exaggerates his pout. His mother says it looks ridiculous on a man his age, but he owns a mirror and has a difference of opinion.

He turns to Yuuri, tosses his hair in a well-practiced fashion, and pouts again, sighing. “He’s so cute, but I don’t think he likes me.”

“That’s not true,” Yuuri protests. He’s vehement enough that Victor is startled, wondering if Yuuri realizes that he's not talking about Vicchan alone, but Yuuri’s attention seems focused on the dog. “He’s just not used to you yet. He’s not sure what to expect.”

“I guess I’m not very experienced with this,” Victor says. “Dogs, I mean. I love dogs! I’ve always loved dogs, but I haven’t gotten much chance to be around them.”

Yuuri tilts his head at Victor, and a small smile softens his features. Victor had been fascinated by his warm eyes in the gas lighting of the ball, but the dappled gold sunlight makes his skin glow. His bottom lip is plump and pink as the blossoms, and Victor finds himself staring, losing track of anything beyond the hypnotic movement of those lips.

He realizes suddenly that Yuuri had asked him a question. “Excuse me?”

Yuuri holds out the stick toward Victor as Vicchan hops around between them, wagging his entire back half in excitement. “If you throw it for him, he might bring it back to you.”

Victor reaches out for the stick, and if his fingers happen to graze over Yuuri’s palm in the process, well, that’s purely accidental, right? He grasps the stick firmly, hauls back, and throws it as hard as he can, and Vicchan takes off after it.

He’s not sure how long, exactly, they spend in the garden. They take turns throwing the stick for Vicchan as he dashes back and forth across the lawn. Victor tells Yuuri about his boyhood, and how his nursemaids kept having to chase him down as he tried to climb into the kennels with his father’s hunting hounds. Yuuri tells him about getting Vicchan as a child, when some enterprising young merchant presented him to Mari as a courting gift. Victor can only imagine it caused a fair amount of gossip when she handed the wriggling pup off to her little brother instead.

Somehow, that ends with Victor telling Yuuri about the time he and Makkachin broke off on a hunt. “When she jumped the hedge with me clinging to her back, my mother absolutely _shrieked_ ,” he says. “Like she thought Makka had run away with me! But really I was a naughty child. I got bored of waiting for excitement to find us and decided to make my own.”

Victor finishes with a shrug, and Yuuri shakes his head. He’s smiling as he cards his fingers through Vicchan’s fluff. The little pup is splayed out between them, legs extended, and panting with exhaustion from all the running.

“That sounds like you,” Yuuri says, but the rest of his words are cut off my a deep rumbling gurgle from his own stomach. He coughs, hiding his face against his shoulder.

“We could get lunch?” Victor suggests, trying to keep thr edge of deperation from his tone. He’s only just gotten Yuuri to open up a bit. He’s not ready to part ways again.

But Yuuri’s face goes serious and still, a wall of responsibility falling between them. “I have to go,” he says, standing to dust off his pants. “I promised my tutor I would help with engagement preparations this afternoon.”

Victor rises as well, hiding his frustration and disappointment behind a mask of formality. “Of course,” he says. “Will I see you at dinner?” Yuuri shakes his head, and Victor licks his lips. “Breakfast tomorrow, then? Yuuko told me she misses seeing you.”

It’s a lie, but a harmless one, and a near-imperceptible twitch on Yuuri’s face indicates that his hit landed. Before Yuuri can protest, Victor takes his hand and pulls it up, pressing his lips to that smooth skin.

Yuuri flushes as he reclaims his hand, but Victor only smiles and takes his leave, waving at Yuuri one last time from the garden entrance. “See you at breakfast,” he calls.

-

Victor is curled on the sofa, writing in his journal, when the bedroom door slides open and Christophe tiptoes in. He freezes just inside the door, as if caught sneaking back from a liason. Victor chuckles at his wide-eyed expression and puts down his pen.

“Where have you been all day?” he asks. “Something I should know about?”

Chris smiles and shakes his head, coming over to drop at the other end of the sofa. “I decided to dig through the library. I thought maybe I’d find some obscure loophole to help with this engagement issue.”

“Any luck?” Victor tries not to sound too hopeful. If there were a possibility, he’s convinced Chris would already know about it. He plays at being a pretty face, but Victor knows well how hard his friend studied law and etiquette for his position as advisor.

“No.” Chris pulls a face, wrinkling his nose. “Most of the books were written in the Katsu dialect. I was able to find someone to help translate for me, but…” He trails off and shrugs. “What about you? Did you run off and buy out half the market again?”

Victor tries to hide his smirk behind his book. “No,” he says, drawing out the vowel. “I’m afraid I just spent most of the morning out in the gardens with Prince Yuuri.”

Chris gasps theatrically, and that’s the only warming Victor has before he’s slapped in the head with a pillow. “You knave!” Chris drops the pillow and turns, propping his head up on the back of the sofa. “Tell me _everything_.”

**Day Four:**

Yuuri is at breakfast. Yes! Progress has been made. He spends most of the meal singularly focused on his dish rather than the conversation, but at least he’s no longer actively avoiding Victor. By the time they finish eating, he’s even lifted his eyes from the table. He seems either fascinated or horrified by the way Yura packs rice into his face, perhaps both.

Victor decides that the reward is worth a little extra risk and clears his throat to draw Yuuri’s attention. “Could I join you and Vicchan in the garden again this morning?”

“Um, I would,” Yuuri says, pushing the last of his food around the bowl. “But I told Yuuko that her girls could watch Vicchan today.”

“Okay,” Victor says, undeterred. “Something else, then.”

Yuuri looks over at Queen Hiroko, but his mother only pats his hand with a serene smile. “Why don’t you show our guests around today, Yuuri? I’m sure they’d enjoy the stable, the library, or…,” her smile widens into a grin. “How about the beach?”

Yuuri hesitates, gnawing his lower lip. “I guess," he says. "If you all want to go, then I could give you a tour.”

Chris stretches his arms out wide, yawns, and pats his stomach. “I’m afraid I’m much too full from that breakfast to go jogging around on a horse. You boys go without me. I’ll catch up after a nap.”

“If he’s not going, then I shouldn’t have to go either,” Yura says, dropping his spoon on the table with a clatter. “I’m going out to the ship to see Beka.”

Victor turns to Yuuri with a careful smile as Yura and Chris both stand up to leave. “Just you and me, then?” he asks. “I’d love to see the stable.”

Yuuri squeezes his eyes closed as if in pain or prayer, but nods his assent.

-

The stable is everything Victor hoped for and more. He slips a little coin to a stable boy when they arrive, and the kid saddles up a spirited horse for him: a great gold beast called Shachihoko.

Victor’s been riding since he was old enough to toddle, and it’s one thing he knows with certainty that he does well. A few minutes of soft cooing in the horse’s ear and a firm hand, and soon he and Shachihoko are trotting circles around Yuuri and his more sedate chestnut mare.

When they’ve gotten up a good pace, he winks back over his shoulder at Yuuri and squeezes his mount firmly with his thighs. They clear the fence by a good two hands, and Victor wheels his horse around to see Yuuri’s reaction. Yuuri perches on the mare's back as casually as one might lie on a sofa, but he's still adjusting his reins. If he saw the jump, he shows no sign of it.

Victor slumps in the saddle and strokes Shachihoko’s neck. “Not your fault,” he murmurs to the horse. They re-enter the paddock through the open gate.

The library doesn’t fare much better.

Studying was never Victor’s favorite hobby, but no matter what Yakov might claim, he is not a hopeless idiot. The Katsu palace library is maybe half the size of the one Victor is used to at home, and, as Chris said, most of the books are written in the local language.

Victor does recognize a few familiar covers - some history, written in the common tongue, and a couple of novels. Then he spots a slim volume of poetry by a Nikivian romantic among the spines. Victor seizes the opportunity and plucks the book from the shelf, opening to a random page.

He’s very familiar with this writer’s work. At one point, he’d memorized several poems and taken to reciting them at parties. It had been a popular trick for a bit, until a couple enterprising young nobles decided Victor’s recitations were secret messages of intent.

Now, he falls back on that tactic, reciting one of his favorite sonnets from memory. He barely glances at the book, focusing his gaze, instead, on Yuuri.

Unfortunately, Yuuri doesn’t look back. He wanders the edges of the library and busies his hands by tracing his fingers along the spines of the books. His long fingers are light in a way that makes the words of love on Victor’s lips turn bitter and biting. This is a new low for him: jealous of a book.

He gets through the last stanza of the poem and closes the volume with a snap. Yuuri looks up from the shelves as if startled from a dream. His cheeks pink and he claps politely, as you might if your dinner companion’s lapdog sat on command. Behind them, Victor can hear Chris snickering into his scrolls and documents. It takes great force of will to keep his face still, a polite smile masking the twist of his guts.

“Maybe we should break for lunch,” Yuuri suggests, and Victor has a sinking feeling that will be the end of his day with Yuuri. At this rate, it may be the last he sees of him all week.

Lunch time in Katsu is even less formal than breakfast. Victor trails Yuuri through the halls to the kitchens, watching as he begins grabbing whatever is already on hand. Victor follows suit, picking up a couple unusual fruits and a more familiar-looking rice snack.

When he turns back to the door, Yuuri is watching him. “Well,” Yuuri says. “I think that’s it.”

Victor's heart sinks as he realizes his intuition was right. Once again, Yuuri intends to use the midday break as an excuse to run off on him. Victor steels his spine. When Yuuri says it, he needs to make sure he looks disappointed but not devastated.

“Hello there,” Prince-Consort Toshiya calls from the doorway. Yuuri jumps, almost dropping his snacks. His father comes over, patting him firmly on the shoulder. “Yuuri, are you being a good host?”

“Of course he is,” Victor says, bowing his head in deference to the older man. “I believe we’re about to part ways for the afternoon, though. Something about party preparations?”

Toshiya makes a dismissive clucking sound. “Party planning? Yuuri, you know Minako and Mari will do most of that. Have you been to the beach yet, Prince Victor?”

“I’ve been to the docks.”

Toshiya shakes his head, patting his son again. “That’s not the same at all. Yuuri, take your good-looking foreigner down to our beach.”

Yuuri’s eyes slide over to his father, and he hisses something in Katsu out the corner of his mouth. He looks serious, but Toshiya only laughs and musses his hair, then reaches around them to grab a plum for himself.

“Go on,” he says, shooing them away. “Take your food. Have a picnic!”

Yuuri’s shoulders slump, but he nods at Victor to follow.

Victor trails well behind him, faking interest in the flesh of the fruit in his hand. He did want to see more of Yuuri, but not if it meant that Yuuri was feeling forced to spend time with him.

Yuuri has his bedroom practically wallpapered in pictures of Victor. Why is he so determined to avoid the real thing? Maybe Victor is disappointing. He scowls at the floor. After having an idea of what Victor would be like from those ridiculous paintings for years, a real version of Victor - annoying, clingy, forward - might not fit with the romantic, peaceful young figure Victor cut in his oldest portraits.

Victor gets so lost in the spiral of that thought, he nearly runs into Yuuri when he stops suddenly in the hall. He catches himself on the wall to avoid a collision.

“Do you mind if I stop and get Vicchan on the way?” Yuuri asks, tucking a bit of hair behind his ear. “He likes to chase the crabs on the beach.”

Victor shakes off the lingering gremlins of doubt. “Of course!”

They detour by Yuuri’s rooms where he ducks inside, slipping through the door and sliding it closed in a way that makes it clear Victor is _not_ invited in today. He returns a moment later with Vicchan wriggling in his arms and resumes the tour.

As Victor suspected, the palace has a rear door that leads straight into the back garden. He doesn’t expect he’d be able to find it without an escort. They pass through the garden and follow a winding cobblestone path down the hill, moving away from the city and the docks.

There are no other houses along the path, no other humans. All this land must belong solely to the royal family. Trees and flowers grow wild all around the well-maintained path, and they wind their way down to the beach accompanied only by the cry of sea birds, the patter of Vicchan’s paws, and the hushed crash of the waves.

Victor’s feet hit the first mound of white sand, and he immediately begins cursing his boots. It's not fair that he’s surrounded by all this lovely fine sand and can’t take his shoes off to feel the grains run between his toes.

Vicchan goes barrelling past him, running directly into the spray and yapping with excitement. Yuuri drops onto a driftwood bench and tugs off his own simple shoes, tucking them out of the way. Once his feet are free, he chases off after the little dog.

Victor sits on the bench and scowls down at the mounds of sand between his feet. He kicks up a fine spray. He’s being ridiculous, kicking sand. He’s a half-step above a child throwing a tantrum, and it makes him feel worse.

He’s shaken from his self-flagellation by a loud yip. Yuuri is chasing Vicchan among the surf, dodging in and out of the waves as they slap against the shore. His bare feet pound the firm sand, and his face is split by an easy grin. Watching him, Victor can easily envision a smaller, less serious Prince Yuuri running alongside Vicchan instead. It’s the happiest and most comfortable that Victor has seen him look since the night of the ball. His stomach sours. Where has this Yuuri been hiding, and why is he so afraid to come out with Victor nearby?

Maybe Victor has been playing this game all wrong.

Eventually, Vicchan catches sight of a little blue crab as it scuttles sideways along the shoreline, and with a yelp, he’s off. Yuuri watches him go, then climbs up the beach, back to where Victor is still sitting with his shoes.

He lingers next to the bench, shifting his weight on his feet, but not saying anything. With a sigh, Victor scoots across the bench until he’s near the edge, then gestures to the empty space beside him. “Please. Sit. I’m not going to leap on you.”

“I don’t think that,” Yuuri says just a tad too quickly, but he lowers himself to the empty seat and bends to retrieve his shoes.

“What do you think of me?” Victor asks. Yuuri freezes, caught in the act of pulling on his shoe. “Be honest, Yuuri, because I think I may have come here with the wrong idea and,” Victor pauses, rubbing his face as he thinks. “It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable with you.” Yuuri shoves his shoe into place and reaches for the other one.

“You avoided me for two days,” Victor points out. “And now that we’re past that, you still do everything you can to run away when I get near you. I don’t know what to think. Have I disappointed you?” He stares off. He can see a few white sails on the horizon, mere specks caught between two vast blue maws. “What would you like me to be? If there’s some idea of me that you enjoyed more, I’m happy to play the part.”

“That’s not what I want at all,” Yuuri snaps, and Victor whips around. He’s amazed to see Yuuri staring back at him, a determined twist to his mouth and a glint in his eye. He flushes, but holds Victor’s gaze. “I don’t need you to be some fake version of yourself just to please me. What’s the point in coming here to get to know me if I don’t get to know the real you?”

Victor blinks. A whole new version of Yuuri is seated beside him, firey and opinionated, and he finds his cheeks reaching for a smile. He’s unearthed buried treasure in the sand. “Okay,” he agrees. “Only the real me, then, but only if I also get to know the real you.”

Yuuri drops his gaze, and Victor has to fold his hands, resisting the impulse to reach out and turn Yuuri’s head back to him. The eye contact was a sweet sip of ice water in the summer heat, and he’s desperate for more. 

But Yuuri is focused on the ground now, and his hands clench on his knees so hard it looks painful. “I’m not very good with pressure,” he mumbles. “It’s a terrible trait, especially for a prince.”

The sound that bursts from Victors lips is an ugly, humorless mockery of a laugh. “Yes,” he says. “I know what you mean. Pressure is part of the parcel, isn’t it? There’s pressure to perform, pressure to learn, pressure to speak well, pressure to marry…” He trails off and finds that Yuuri is staring at him again, wide-eyed. “What is it?”

“You do understand.” Yuuri flushes again and hides his face in his hands. “Sorry. This is so embarrassing. When I was a kid, I used to look at your portraits, and I’d think of us being friends. You had such sad eyes,” Yuuri bites his lip, and Victor nods at him to go on. "I thought anyone who looked like that must know how hard it is."

'Such sad eyes,' he said. It's not the first time Victor had heard that, but he never really knew what they meant before he saw that old painting in Yuuri's room - the first portrait.

He stretches out and leans back against the bench, watching as the heels of his boots make furrows in the sand. “Friends, hm? Is that what you want me to be, just a friend?”

“Would that be okay?” Yuuri’s question is quiet, tentative. Does he think he’s not allowed to have friends?

Victor shakes his head and runs a hand over his face. Stupid Victor. Nobles have been sending you courting gifts, clamoring for your favor for twelve years, and you go chasing after this boy, the one who wants to be _friends_.

“Very well,” Victor says out loud, as he turns to Yuuri, smiling. “None of those pressures between us. We'll be ourselves from now on, and we'll be friends.” Yuuri’s relieved smile looks as genuine as Victor’s is fake.

He feels the pang of despair well within him and shoves it down. Later, he will let the pain rise. He will shout it out into his pillow and let his tears stain the sheets. But now, he will smile, and he'll enjoy the afternoon, the beach, and the serene expression of the new friend at his side.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last days are dawning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of what used to be chapter two.
> 
> In the next 3-4 months, I'll be participating in two big bangs as well as three zines, two of which I'm helping to organize, so please bear with me when it comes to the final chapter of this. :)

**Day Five**

Victor is still fastening the last small buttons on his vest when he's interrupted a tapping sound at the outer door. By the time he emerges from the bedroom, Christophe has already answered it.

Yuuri stands in the open doorway, fiddling with the cuffs of his billowing white shirt. He looks startled to see Chris and Yura at the door rather than Victor. Who knows what Chris may have said to him already?

“Good morning, Yuuri,” Victor interrupts, striding across the room. “Is everything alright? Did you need something?”

“I was just walking by and,” Yuuri’s eyes dart to Chris, then Yura, then back to focus on Victor, “I thought maybe you’d like to walk to breakfast with me.”

It’s a good thing Yuuri is so interested in meeting the real Victor, because he doesn’t even have to try to hold back his enthusiasm at the invitation. “Yes,” he says. “Absolutely. I would love that.”

Yuuri’s cheeks pink in the cutest way, and he ducks his head, looking up at Victor through his lashes with a shy little smile. “Oh. Good.”

Victor grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and follows Yuuri out the door.

“Excuse me,” Chris calls out behind them. “Are you forgetting to invite anyone?”

Victor pretends not to hear. He wants this new version of Yuuri all to himself, even if that means he still has to share at breakfast.

When they get to the dining room, the rest of the family is already waiting. Hiroko’s smile as they enter together looks fit to split her face in two, and she waves for Victor and Yuuri to both come sit with her.

They each kneel on either side of the queen, to tuck in. Victor soon discovers a whole new range of delicious foods he’d missed out on by being late to breakfast the previous days. The most popular treats run out quickly, but Yuuri is a master at grabbing them first, slicing off small portions of his dumplings and passing bits across the table to share with Victor. By the time Chris and Yura make it to breakfast, the best morsels are long gone.

Yuuri pauses before leaving the table to press a kiss to his mother’s cheek. She pats him on the head in return and whispers something in the local tongue, then turns to Victor, tilting her head in a blatant invitation for him to do the same.

Delighted, Victor kisses Hiroko’s soft cheek as well and receives the same pat to the head before he rises.

“What’s next?” Victor asks as he follows Yuuri into the hallway. “Or was the invitation for breakfast only?”

“No, no,” Yuuri says, waving his hands. “You’re welcome to come along. Most of my day is free. Usually I take Vicchan out to the back garden now.”

“Vicchan,” Victor sighs longingly. “He’s so cute, Yuuri. I want one. Where can I get a Vicchan?”

Yuuri colors again, looking down at his feet as they walk. “I don’t know. I got him as a gift when I was a child.” He tilts his head to look sideways at Victor, a curious glint to his eye. “Are you here to see me at all?” He asks, teasing. “Or are you using me to get close to my dog?”

“I’ve been found out,” Victor gasps, clutching his chest. “It was the little dog all along. Someone approached me at the ball, and he said, ‘See that man over there? He owns the _cutest_ little dog.’ Everything after that was a clever ruse constructed in my pursuit of Vicchan.”

Yuuri shakes his head as if in dismay, but Victor can see the smile tugging at his lips. 

When they reach the back garden, they find the space already occupied. Yuuri puts Vicchan down in the grass, and he darts across the garden to throw his little body at Yuuko’s knees until she bends down to scratch at the base of his tail.

“Good morning,” she calls, barely audible over the shrieks of delight as the three small girls with her see the dog. She winces at the cacophony. “I hope you weren’t looking for a peaceful morning, because you won’t find it out here with these monsters.”

Yuuri shoots a furtive glance at Victor. “Is this okay?” he asks in a low voice. “You can leave if the kids bother you.”

Why is this, of all things, the moment that Victor finds himself getting flustered? Maybe it’s the way Yuuri asked, or the consideration of asking at all. Maybe it’s the care Yuuri is showing him today, the friendship he’s extending in spite of everything else that has happened this week, but Victor feels his cheeks heat as he struggles to form an articulate response.

“I like kids,” he finally blurts out - very articulate indeed, but it does the trick.

They waste the remainder of the morning out in the gardens, enjoying the bright sun, the sea breeze, and the smell of the blooms. By the time Yuuko and the triplets head back inside, Victor is sun-warmed, content, and damp. Who knew the peaceful garden fountain could double as a wading pool? The triplets and Vicchan, apparently.

Yuuri deposits the soaking wet Vicchan back in his rooms, and Victor waits. Will Yuuri try to make his escape once more, turning the midday meal into a wall he builds between them?

Yuuri doesn’t even ask if Victor is coming with him. He sets the dog down, leaving the door to his room open in invitation, then leads the way through the winding halls to the front door. Victor follows along, bemused by Yuuri’s determined stride. They make it as far as the arched gateway to the palace before Yuuri stops abruptly and turns to Victor.

“Oh,” he says. “I was going to grab something to eat in the market. I shouldn’t have assumed-”

But Victor cuts him off, throwing his arms out to proclaim, “I love the market!”

Yuuri steps back, startled by the over the top reaction, but as they walk down the hill, Victor begins pointing out items of interest along the way. “This statue was built 2,000 years ago as a memorial to some people who died,” he says, and, “This walkway is where little Yuuri fell and hurt himself chasing bugs!”

Yuuri chuckles, shaking his head. “I can tell who gave you the tour now,” he says. “And it wasn’t ‘bugs’, just one fat grasshopper.”

“Ah-ah,” Victor says, wagging a finger. “You shouldn’t call him fat because you couldn’t catch him. That’s so rude!”

At the market, everyone they pass seems pleased to see Yuuri. A few people bow, but many more wave and smile, calling out to him in the local language. Yuuri politely waves or smiles back to each person, and Victor joins in, though he knows it’s not him the people wish to see.

They finally pause in front of one stall that smells _incredible_. An elderly woman perches on a stool in the small space, but she leaps up when Yuuri smiles at her, spry as a girl. Yuuri orders for both of them in rapid Katsu, and the old woman bustles about, juggling sauces and powders. Victor watches, fascinated as she throws items on a grill or into an oven, then yanks them back out, coating them in marinades once more to repeat the process. Victor can feel sweat beading on his brow from standing so close to the heat for even a short time. He's amazed such an old woman manages to shuttle back and forth in that stall all day.

Yuuri passes Victor a veritable bouquet of hot things on sticks. Some people enjoy receiving flowers, but Victor would like to propose an alternative: delicious items on sticks. As she hands over the last of their order, the woman pats Yuuri on the hand. She says something in the Katsu tongue that makes Yuuri blush, then winks at Victor. Well, he doesn’t need to speak the language to understand the tone of _that_.

As Victor juggles his food bouquet, Yuuri leads him to a little wooden platform near the docks. They sit cross-legged on the benches right among the people and watch as an old man teaches his grandson to fish. The boy, no older than Yuuko’s triplets, is too eager to catch his first. Victor can’t help but chuckle as the kid pulls his line back every time he casts, though the worm on his hook has barely kissed the waves.

“I remember being like that,” Yuuri says, passing Victor one of the foil-wrapped sweet potatoes. “It’s hard to wait for things you want at that age, but fishing is good for teaching patience.”

“Maybe I should take up fishing,” Victor jokes as he peels the foil back from the end of his potato. “I don’t know if I learned that lesson well enough yet.” Hot butter drips from the roasted potato and sears his fingers. He hisses, jamming them in his mouth. He wasn’t talking about potatoes, but he may have made his point a bit too well.

They finish their food as the morning market closes down. The poor boy still hasn’t managed to catch a single fish when Yuuri stands, dusting off the seat of his breeches.

“I’m not trying to run away,” he says out of nowhere, and okay, now Victor definitely thinks he’s trying to run away. “I have a dance lesson with my tutor to prepare for the ball. You’re welcome to join if you want to, but you’d just be watching me dance all afternoon.”

Victor bites his tongue on what he wants to say. There’s a remark bubbling in his mind, something like, ‘But watching you dance is what brought me here to begin with'. He loves to tease Yuuri and watch the way he pinks with the attention, but there's a line that he must walk here: teasing, but not flirting. Yuuri wants to be friends, he reminds himself. No pressure. Victor is glad to have a friend.

"Victor?" Yuuris voice cuts through his thoughts, reminding him of the offer that still stands open.

“If you don’t mind,” Victor says. “I would very much like to watch you dance.”

Yuuri smiles, and Victor knows that he made the correct choice as Yuuri extends his hand, palm up. Victor reaches out and allows Yuuri to help pull him to his feet. Yuuri's fingers kiss his palm and linger at the heart of his fat line. Behind them, there’s a shout, and they pull apart - the boy finally caught his fish.

-

The ballroom in Katsu castle is half the size of the one in Nikiv. One of the long walls displays a mural with an ornate landscape. Yuuri says it's meant to depict the whole island from one tip to the other. Victor is amazed by the snow-capped mountains sharing space on the wall with beaches and forests. He always thought of Katsu as a tiny nation, but the image reminds him there’s more to the land than its capital city.

If only he had more time here, he’d like to see the rest. Maybe Yuuri will take him someday when they’re old men with limitless freedom. Yuuri will be married then, of course. Will Victor? It’s always been hard for him to picture that future without knowing the other person in it.

The image springs to his mind unbidden: himself and Yuuri, riding through the land together on horseback. Yuuri's hair is threaded with silver, and the sunlight glints off their matching rings as they wave to their subjects in the fields along the way.

He shakes his head, discarding the idea, and waves to Yuuko across the dance hall when he sees her watching him, frowning with concern. The castle staff is still readying the room for the engagement party, cleaning the floors and touching up paint on the mural.

Yuuri’s tutor, Minako, is a well-honed sword of a woman: beautiful and sharp. She shakes his hand when Yuuri introduces them, and gripping it tightly. He’s reminded of Yakov’s estranged wife, Lilia, who had been his own dance teacher as a child and now tutors Yura. It’s a shame the two women will likely never meet.

Victor takes a seat in a chair against the wall to observe the lesson. It’s easy to see how Yuuri captured his attention at Yura’s birthday from the moment he touches a hand to his instructor's waist. Minako is a skilled dancer, and watching them move together, he can see her influence on the precision of Yuuri’s steps.

However, there’s a quality to Yuuri’s dancing that comes from within _him_ as well.

Victor leans forward in his seat, propping his face up on his hands as he follows their movements, searching for the details that make Yuuri stand apart. The ball had been a blur - lights, music, smoke, noise, _champagne_. Yuuri had been captivating in that setting, but here with no music, just the sound of Minako counting their beat, his skill is even more obvious. In Yuuri's movements alone, Victor can hear the orchestra building to its crescendo.

After running through a few styles, Minako steps back, and the lesson goes from practical to technical. She slows down, showing Yuuri the steps beat by beat as he watches, frowning in concentration. It takes a few rounds of this careful mimicry before the steps begin to fall into a pattern Victor recognizes.

This particular dance is traditional in Popov as a court staple. Of course Yuuri is learning it - he needs to dance with the Duke at the party. It would honor Popov if his fiance demonstrates an early knowledge of the customs of his court.

As Victor watches the practice, an uneasy feeling grips his heart, dragging it into his guts. He tries to ignore it or blame it on jealousy, but as the practice drags on, his instincts only pull at him more.

Compared to what Victor saw before, Yuuri is stiff in his movements, his shoulders tight. Minako, too, seems off balance. She raises her arm to spin Yuuri under, and they both lose the beat, stepping out.

Victor has to say something. He stands up and crosses the room to join them. Minako is frowning, disgruntled by the mistake, and Yuuri is chewing on his lip. His eyes widen as Victor approaches, as if he’s afraid of what Victor might say about the performance.

“If I may,” Victor says to Minako, nodding in deference. “It seems you’re struggling because you’re not used to leading in this particular dance.”

“Is it that obvious?” She mutters, then shakes her head. “I haven’t done this in quite a while, and then it was always with my partner taking the lead. I didn’t think it would make so much difference.”

Victor nods. “From what I’ve seen, Katsu’s traditional dances don’t formalize the partner’s roles as much as Nikiv and the surrounding territories. I’m actually quite familiar with this dance, since Popov is one of our territories. It’s not as prominent in Nikiv, but it had a rise in popularity when I was younger.” He turns to Yuuri, who is staring at the polished wood floor as if searching for his reflection. “I could lead, if that helps.”

Yuuri looks up sharply at the suggestion, but before he can give his own opinion, Minako cries out, “ _Wonderful_! Ah, why didn’t I think of this? It’s perfect.” She propels Victor closer to Yuuri with a gentle shove at his lower back. “You two get comfortable. When you’re ready for music, let me know.”

Victor steps closer to Yuuri, and sees his eyes widen. “Is this okay?” Victor asks. “If you'd be more comfortable with Minako, I can step back and give pointers instead.”

The barest hint of a smile crosses Yuuri’s features. "It’s fine with me," he says. "If it’s not too much trouble to you.”

“No trouble at all. I know from experience that you’re a lovely dancer, and I’m sure the little bones of my feet will remain intact.” He extends a hand to Yuuri. “Shall we?”

Yuuri's hand is warm in his own, and Victor can feel the barest brush of calluses on his fingertips, the intriguing evidence of some pastime Victor has not yet discovered.

He pushes that thought aside and begins by counting out the steps as Minako had. He shows Yuuri where to turn or change grip, slow and methodical as they work through the pattern of the dance. Yuuri has a gift for dance, as Victor suspected. He catches on quickly and mimics well. As they continue, he even notes little details in how Victor points his toes or tilts his head, asking questions about whether these things are part of the dance or extra flair. The answer is almost always flair.

The only issue is Yuuri’s occasional stumble. Well, it's not the stumbling that's the problem, but Yuuri's reaction to it. When he does miss a step - a rare occurrence - he gets flustered. He stops. Victor continues to pull at him, dragging until he catches up.

They resume, moving in sync until, once again, Yuuri steps out of time. He pulls away, and without thinking Victor yanks him back. Yuuri overbalances, or maybe Victor stepped in. Either way, they're pressed flush against each other, holding one another upright as they breathe hard, chest to chest.

Victor steps back, reasserting the space between them which the dance demands. “You’re doing well,” he says. “You just need to memorize the pattern more with practice. Even if you miss a step, don't stop. We'll fix it.”

The blush fades from Yuuri’s cheeks and he nods, eyes lit with new determination. They start again.

With a few more repetitions, Yuuri is following his lead effortlessly. Victor would never have guessed Yuuri was new to this dance if he hadn’t seen the fumbles for himself. He forgets to signal Minako, but as they start for the tenth time, he hears the first quiet notes of the piano.

The melody is embedded in Victor’s bones. Though the dance has since fallen out of favor in Nikiv, it calls up memories of grand balls when he was a younger man. He remembers dancing to this at Christophe’s coming of age ball. Though the traditional version of the dance is partnered, they’d varied the steps then, swapping partners on the spins. Victor must have danced with half the young nobles in Giacom, if not more, before winding up again with a flushed, wide-eyed young Chris in his arms.

He finds himself smiling at the memory of those days, when Chris was still an ingenue, and Yuuri smiles back.

By the time the music stops, they’re both panting. Yuuri laughs between his gasps, leaning against Victor for support, and he’s not sure what’s so funny, but joins in anyway, helpless to resist.

At the far side of the room, Minako applauds, and Victor, still trying desperately to catch his breath, joins arms with Yuuri for a sweeping bow: the fitting end for any great performance.

-

Yuuri stops outside the door to the guest suite, lingering in the hall. The soft afternoon light spilling through the windows inflames the touches of gold paint in the nearby mural, which burnishes Yuuri's skin in turn.

“You could come in for a drink?” Victor suggests, but Yuuri shakes his head.

“I don’t drink often,” he says, brushing a bit of hair back from his eyes. “It’s too easy to lose control.”

Victor pictures the Yuuri from the ball, flushed and laughing and easy in Victor’s arms with his breath tinged pink by champagne, and he regrets.

“Thank you for all your help today,” Yuuri says. “I know this isn’t what you expected when you came here, but-”

“Yuuri,” Victor interrupts. “Don’t worry about that. What else would a friend do?”

Yuuri smiles and nods, and the hair falls right back into his face. “You’re right, of course. Breakfast again tomorrow?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Still, Yuuri doesn’t walk away. They stand together in the doorway, watching each other in companionable silence for a moment. Finally, Yuuri nods and walks away. He stops at the end of the hallway and waves. Victor waves back, watching as he disappears around the corner.

Victor slides the door to his suite open to find Chris standing just inside. His green eyes widen for a moment, but then he slips right back into his cool facade. “Welcome back,” he says. “Did you have a nice day out?”

“As a matter of fact, we did,” Victor answers, pushing past Chris to hang his jacket on the chair. Yura, lounging on the sofa, barely looks up from the journal he's scribbling into. “Did you two manage to stay out of trouble without me?”

“Well, I have no idea what _that one_ did with his day,” Chris says, sweeping his arm out at Yura. “But I, for one, had a very productive day in the library.”

Victor unfastens the last few buttons on his vest, then discards it over the back of the couch. “Sounds thrilling,” he says in a voice that is anything but thrilled. His own reflection winks back at him from the full-length mirror as he stoops to unlace his boots.

“Oh, it is,” Chris purrs, and Victor stops what he’s doing, laces still caught in his hand. Christophe has to be up to something with that tone.

“I’m glad to see that young Prince Katsuki seems to be warming up to you,” Chris says. “Because I do believe I’ve found a solution to the trivial matter of his current engagement.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Chris repeats, incredulous. He stares at Victor, mouth twisting in disapproval. “Is that all I get?”

Victor straightens up. He grips the back of the couch for support as the world tilts beneath his feet. “We’re not doing that anymore,” he says. “Sorry. I forgot to tell you.”

Yura puts his journal down and looks up at Victor, his mouth hanging open. “What do you mean, _we’re not doing that anymore_?”

“It’s fine,” Victor says, waving a hand at his cousin. “Really. Don’t worry about that stuff. That’s all called off.”

“ _Called off_?” Chris echoes. “We sailed for a week to get here. _A week_.”

“Yes,” Victor says. “But you’re having a good time, right?”

The others just stare at him. Victor scoops up his vest and boots and starts to ease back toward his bedroom.

“Victor?” Chris’s voice follows him. “Victor, what the hell do you mean? _Victor Nikiforov_.”

He slides the bedroom door closed and lets his clothes fall to the floor, then throws himself onto the bed. He gazes up once more at the flat white expanse of the ceiling. Yuuri is his friend now, he reminds himself.

He rolls onto his side and closes his eyes, dismissing the other thoughts and questions that press in on him. He dreams of a wedding. Chris is performing the ceremony, grinning ear to ear. Yura, holding the rings, scowls at both of them. Victor's fiance stands across from him, their face concealed beneath a sheet. He pulls back the curtain and stares into his own eyes.

**Day Six:**

Victor wakes early, his stomach twisting up into his throat. He can’t quite place if the feeling is excitement, apprehension, or hunger. It’s the final day he has in Katsu before Yuuri’s fiance arrives - there’s the apprehension. But Yuuri wanted to meet again for breakfast - excitement, and also hunger.

He rolls out of bed and throws on his clothes. He misses buttons on his vest in his haste and has to go back over them in the mirror, then finger combs his hair into a semblance of order and grabs his jacket.

Yura is still asleep on the sofa in the outer room, his limbs flung out in all directions. His mouth hangs open, drooling copiously onto the cushion. If only Victor had some way to preserve that image for later.

Chris is on his pallet in the corner, and his eyes are closed, but he’s so still and perfectly composed that Victor doubts he’s asleep. They’d shared beds frequently growing up, and he knows well that Chris is an octopus when he sleeps. They may be older, but he doubts that has changed so much.

He shuffles across the floor in his stocking feet, carrying his boots in one hand to avoid disturbing the other two. Once he’s safely out in the hall, he slumps against a wall and drops down to the floor to lace on his shoes.

He's at something of a loss on what to do. Yuuri had asked him to breakfast, but Victor is up much earlier than usual. After five full days in Katsu, the castle halls are still a mystery to him, but he has time. Perhaps, if he wanders long enough, he can find Yuuri’s room and surprise him by turning the tables. He smiles to himself, thinking of how Yuuri’s brown eyes will widen when he opens his door to find Victor already dressed and waiting to escort him.

With new determination to find his way, Victor sets out through the halls in an attempt to locate Yuuri’s suite.

It takes a few wrong turns, and he does wind up in the kitchens by accident at one point, but thankfully one of the maids is happy to direct him to the right place. Corrected, he sets off once more, certain he’ll get it right.

When he arrives at Yuuri’s rooms, the outer door stands half open. Good! Yuuri must be awake already. Victor raps his knuckles on the wooden frame as a warning before peering around the open door.

“Yuuri,” he calls, drawing out the vowels. “Good morning. Are you ready for breakfast?”

The outer room is empty. There’s no response. Victor looks around, but the area is immaculate, and there’s no sign of Yuuri. The inner chamber door is still closed, so he could be asleep, but then why is the door in the hallway open?

He slips through into the room, scanning for clues as to where Yuuri might be. Nothing strikes him as being out of place.

Victor wanders along the walls, observing the little details that build a hidden version of Yuuri. The titles on the bookshelves are a mixture of languages, some familiar and others completely foreign. He trails his fingers along the cool ivory keys on the piano, but does not attempt to play - it was never his talent. Does Yuuri play well? Probably, if the way he dances is any indicator of other musical abilities.

The little desk at the back of the room is the one bit of mess in the whole area, with a few papers and pens scattered across the surface. He traces his hand along the front of the desk as he walks by, and it shuffles the papers.

Most of Yuuri's notes seem to be in Katsu, but the movement shakes something loose, and a word in common catches his eye.

 _Mistake_ , it says, a single line of blotched ink striking through it.

He puts a finger on the corner of the page and slides it free of the others.

~~_Dear Mama and Papa,_ ~~

~~_I’m afraid I’ve made a huge mistake-_ ~~

Below that crossed-out section, another, and another:

~~_Dear Mama and Papa,_ ~~

~~_I know it’s best for Katsu but I can’t-_ ~~

~~_I want to break off the engagement._ ~~

~~_Dear Mama,_ ~~

~~_You were right. I should have waited._ ~~

“Victor?”

He jumps at the sudden intrusion, whipping around to face the doorway. Yuuri is standing in the hallway, holding Vicchan against his chest. The little dog squirms, and Yuuri sets him down on the floor so he can scamper away, leaping onto the sofa to scratch at an itch.

“You’re up early,” Yuuri says, smiling as he steps into the room and pulls the door closed behind him. “Were you looking for me? I was just letting Vicchan out early. I thought maybe after breakfast you’d like to go back to the stables instead-”

Victor waves the note in his hands. “What is this?” he asks. His voice sounds flat, even to his own ears, and deep inside he’s wincing. A thread in his mind urges caution, but he pushes it away and doubles down instead. “Yuuri. Is this how you really feel?”

Yuuri walks over like honey, sweet but slow. It takes an age for him to arrive and pull the papers from Victor’s grasp. “Where did you get these?” he asks, pale. “I meant to throw them away.”

“I was looking for you,” Victor says, “For breakfast."

He taps the paper, impatient. "I need you to tell me, Yuuri, if you mean these words.”

Yuuri turns away, eyes fixed to a far wall. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does!” Victor’s voice rises, and he snaps his mouth shut. He has no desire to yell, but there’s something clawing at the walls of his chest, pounding on the cage of his ribs, and it wants to scream. “You told me you weren’t interested. You wanted this engagement. You thought I was coming after you too strongly. You wanted to stay _friends_.”

Yuuri whips back to stare at him. He’s wound tight, his shoulders visibly tense, and his eyes glisten with unshed tear. “I do want to be your friend, but,” his voice cracks, and he pauses to lick his lips.

“Victor," he starts again. I have pictures of you on my bedroom walls. I’ve admired you since I was a child. Having you show up here, in my home, wanting me?” He shakes his head. “I’ve never been that ambitious outside of dreams. It’s too much.”

“You want me?” Victor whispers, hope creeping into his voice.

When Victor was twelve, he’d snuck into the stables when no one was looking. He’d been begging for months to move up from his fat old pony to a real, full-sized steed. He’d climbed to the top of the fence, balanced on the rail, and then leapt straight onto the back of his father’s favorite stallion.

Now, he’s there again, clinging to anything he can reach with all of his strength, riding the whirlwind.

“I’ve been having doubts since you got here,” Yuuri admits. His laugh is humorless, cracking. “It was too much at once. I never even expected to meet you, much less-”

Victor reaches out and seizes Yuuri by the shoulders. He must look wild now. He was close to crying in frustration a moment ago, and now he’s grinning, unrestrained. He didn’t even comb his hair before he came over.

“Yuuri, this is great news!” Yuuri stares up at him like he’s gone mad. “Chris has been searching the libraries. He found a loophole in the protocols. We can-” He stops talking when Yuuri shakes his head.

“No, Victor.” Yuuri steps back, and Victor’s hands fall to his sides, grasping at air. “There’s more to it than just some loophole in etiquette. There’s _diplomacy_ , and there’s another person involved in this equation that you’re not even thinking about!”

Victor waves his hand as if shooing flies. “Popov is my subject,” he says blithely. “I can order him not to marry you.”

The words leave his lips, and he doesn’t need to look at Yuuri to know they’re a mistake. In fact, he decides not to look at Yuuri at all. The silence lies between them like a frozen pond.

Victor can’t resist. He turns his head to see Yuuri’s expression. The ice beneath him cracks.

Yuuri’s eyes are burning, but his voice is cold. “Is your treatment of subjects always so cavalier?”

“Yuuri,” Victor begins, but he doesn’t know what to say. He stops.

“That may be how you handle your people in Nikiv,” Yuuri says, his words clipped short. “But it’s not how we rule in Katsu. I have to think of others. I have to do what’s best for my people.”

“I know that,” Victor says softly, but Yuuri holds up his hand, forcing him to stop once more.

“After the ball, we should end this- this sham of a friendship.” Yuuri drops his hand, then runs it over his face. “I understand you have diplomatic reasons to stay for the celebration, but,” He swallows. “Afterward, please leave, Victor, and don’t come after me again.”

The words echo in Victor's hollow chest, repeating, ringing in his ears. He can only nod. He fumbles across the room in a daze and trips into the hallway.

Around the corner, Victor leans back on the wall and slumps to the floor. He rests his forehead on his knees and feels the tears burn a path down his cheeks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all over.

“Victor,” Chris yells. “Come out of the bedroom, please.” Although he’s still phrasing it at a request, his impatience is threaded through the words, his tone closer to a growl than a purr.

Victor nuzzles his face deeper into the pillow instead, trying to block out the world. Why won’t Chris just leave him? His face aches, eyes worn dull from tears. All he wants right now is to curl beneath the blankets and hide in the cave-like darkness of the room. Even if he wanted to go outside, he’s in no condition to be seen in public. Christophe is good at what he does; he should be able to make Victor a proper excuse.

There’s a wooshing noise and a click as the door to the bedroom is shoved open, rattling in its track. Victor looks up, bleary-eyed and dismayed as Chris strides into the room and begins pulling up the window shades, sending streams of sunlight to assault Victor’s bed.

“What are you doing?” Victor gasps, covering his face with his hands. “How did you get in?”

“The door doesn’t latch,” Chris says. “I was trying to be _respectful_ before, but since you clearly don’t understand the meaning of the word…” Peering between the cracks in his fingers, Victor sees Chris hold his hands out, as if helpless. 

The hands migrate to Chris’ hips as he stares down at Victor. He’s fully clothed still - he never even bothered to undress last night - but feels exposed, more than naked, like his ribs were cracked open and his whole anatomy is on display. “Please,” Victor mutters. “Just let me have this.”

“Victor, my prince,” Chris says quietly, then sucks a breath in through his teeth. “No.”

Victor drops his hands from his face at the forceful tone. “Christophe-?”

Chris makes a silencing motion to cut him off. “I’m finished indulging you on this trip. This _isn’t like you_ , Victor. First, this impulsive choice to run off after a stranger,” he shrugs. “Fine. It was good to see you so interested in something, much less someone, but all of this?” His gesture encompasses the mess of tangled sheets, Victor’s tear-streaked face, and the other wall of windows that still stand dark and covered. “You’re being selfish.”

Before Victor can choke out a protest, Chris sweeps onward, ticking off points on his fingers. “You’ve abandoned your duties in Nikiv to come here. Your cousin _ran away from home_ , and you’ve barely even spoken to him about it. Popov is your subject, and you’re in here throwing a tantrum rather than meet with him, an action which could very well cause a major diplomatic incident when he discovers you’re here and didn’t come to greet him.”

He plants his hands back on his hips. “And, if you’ll permit me to be selfish for a moment as well, I’m _personally_ very angry with you.”

Victor must look like an idiot at the moment, blinking at Chris dumbly. “Angry with me?” he repeats. “What on earth for?”

Chris looks away, and, to Victor’s surprise, a flush rouges his cheeks. “If you must know,” he says. “I may have met someone at Yura’s ball as well.”

“What? Who?” Victor claws through his memories for a hint. Had he noticed anyone else at the ball with Chris? There had been lights (and Yuuri) and smoke (and Yuuri) and champagne, and _Yuuri_ , but somewhere in the mess of it all he does remember Chris on the other side of the ballroom, dancing with a man. He doesn’t recall the face.

“‘Some Royvian merchant’,” Chris says with a wry tone. It seems like he’s quoting, but Victor’s not sure to whom the comment belongs. Chris’ expression gentles at Victor’s confused look. “A representative from House Masumi. They’re a clothier. We had a lovely time dancing, and the gentleman sent me roses the next day.”

Victor kneels up on the bed at that, leaning forward. “But Christophe,” he says. “That’s wonderful news!” Chris had dallied plenty in his early majority, enough to get something of a reputation. It had been fun for him at the time, and Victor had loved to hear the stories after, but the rumors that followed had dogged his steps, and serious courting attempts had been few and far between.

“It _is_ good news,” Chris says as a grin splits his face. For a moment, they stare at each other, bubbling joy rendering them both boys again. Then, Chris shakes it off, continuing, “But then, before we could begin to get to know one another better, my master quite abruptly drug me onto a boat to come after _his_ love.” He folds his arms again. “And now, after two full weeks of this mess, he will not so much as leave his bedroom to perform his duties.”

“Chris,” Victor begins, crawling to the end of the bed to get to his friend. He reaches out to pull Chris’ hands from their home on his waist, taking them in his own to press a kiss to the knuckles. 

“I did notice that you were sad,” he says. He looks up at Chris through the silvery curtain of his own hair and suddenly _hates_ the part of his mind still reminding him that he looks fetching at this angle. Even when he wants to be genuine, he’s a prisoner of his own training. 

As predicted, Chris’ shoulders slump in defeat. He reaches out as if to touch Victor’s hair, but his hand hovers in the air, then drops. Chris isn’t immune to the constraints of propriety either.

“It’s fine,” Chris sighs. “We’re here now. And, for whatever it’s worth, I _am_ sorry about what you’ve been through. But right now I’m hoping to get Prince Victor Nikiforov back where he should be - putting his people first.”

Victor answers Chris’ distorted, messy smile with one of his own and rises from the bed. He tucks the long ends of his hair back behind his own ears and shuts the ache away along with it. 

“Very well,” he says. “The prince will dress to meet his subject.”

Chris nods as he leaves the room, and Victor gets dressed for the welcome party beside the wardrobe mirror, stitching up his wounds with linen shirts and plastering ribbons over the cracks in his smile.

-

When they arrive at the docks, the edges of the celebration are already fraying. Katsu citizens who gathered in excitement at the first glimpse of the Popovian ship on the horizon are breaking off from the crowd, slipping into alleys and doorways for more private parties. 

The ship looms near shore now, bobbing toward the dock on a placid sea. Men on deck scurry about to prepare for the final landing. At the forefront of the crowd, the royal family stands in a neat row. Victor and Chris slip through the throng, which parts for them as soon as the people recognize their foreign features, and they find a path to where Yura waits, alongside the Captain and First Mate of the _Stammi Vicino_.

“What took you guys so long?” Yura hisses as they stumble into place beside him.

At the sound of Yura’s voice, Yuuri turns back to see who he’s speaking to, and his dark eyes meet Victor’s own. The whole Katsuski clan is dressed to the nines in traditional clothing. Yards of exquisite sapphire brocade silks drape Yuuri’s form, pulled tight around his waist by a thick silver belt. 

When Yuuri sees Victor watching, he turns away quickly, though not before the revealing flush can tinge his cheeks.

Victor is standing right behind Yuuri, and in the press of humanity crowding the shoreline, he knows no one would even notice if he reached out and caught those slim fingers in his own. The sailors of the _Carabosse_ are lowering the heavy gangplank toward the dock, and urgency pushes Victor’s heart toward his throat. 

There is still time to pull Yuuri back. Maybe he’s even waiting for Victor to do just that - take his hand and run. The rapier hanging heavy at Victor’s hip is ceremonial but sharp. No one here could stop them if they fled.

But where would they go, then, the two deposed princes? 

Yuuri’s fingers twitch at his side, as if he, too, is thinking of it.

Victor folds his arms tight against his chest and looks away. Yura is peering up at him, suspicion pinching at his features. “You’re planning something, aren’t you?” he whispers. Victor shakes his head.

The gangplank from the _Carabosse_ vibrates the wooden docks beneath their feet when it lands with a thud, and the sailors slot it into place against the ship.

An anticipatory hush falls over the crowd. 

Victor is holding his breath, too, but not for the same reason as the Katsu people around him. Victor _knows_ Georgi Popovich, has known him since the two of them were both in short pants. Being only a little younger and significantly lower in rank, Georgi was always at the same parties and events as Victor, but just behind. First, he’d stood in Victor’s shadow, vying for attention. Then, Yura had been born, and Georgi’s star was further eclipsed by a second young prince in the region.

Chris looks at Victor sideways and rolls his eyes. He knows what’s coming as well. Chris, caught in much the same position as Georgi, had found his own footing in life. He’d discovered the areas where he excelled and leaned into his station. 

Georgi, resentful of being outshone, instead resolved to do everything Victor would do, but _bigger_.

The first trumpet rings out from the ship, echoing off the nearby buildings, and the crowd stares up eagerly. Then the drums begin, followed by a lilting fife. Soon, Victor hears the whale-like bellow of a tuba from somewhere on board. 

The people around him are starting to look at one another in confusion as the first musician appears at the top of the gangplank. The walkway shakes and bounces under the weight of many feet as a veritable parade marches down to the docks. God, more than half the berths in the ship must have been occupied by musicians.

After the musicians come the animal handlers - men in identical drab uniform, each bearing the weight of a large, brightly-colored bird of some type. The creatures, alarmed by the music, are making a ruckus. One of the peacocks lets out an unholy shriek reminiscent of someone being murdered, and Victor sees Yuuri’s hands twitch up, reaching instinctively to cover his ears. Yuuri stops himself in time to avoid seeming rude, but many of the commoners around them don’t care about such impressions.

Behind Yura, a young child begins to cry.

After the animal handlers come the gymnasts, flipping and crab walking backwards to the dock, pursued by a sword swallower. Behind him, two fellows are juggling batons - batons on _fire_. It’s a ridiculous risk to take while standing on a wooden plank between a ship - made of wood - and the docks - also wood, but it’s actually not one of the fire jugglers who messes up.

Instead, one of the animal handlers manages to lose his grip on the enormous blue and yellow parrot he’s minding. The creature takes off into the air, tresses trailing in its wake. It makes a single frantic circle of the crowd as the handler runs in pursuit. Then the bird looses its bowels upon an old man’s head before flying past the end of the dock and out to sea, rapidly dwindling until it’s nothing more than a speck of brilliance against the clouds.

In the wake of the chaos, Duke Georgi Popovich finally appears at the top of the gangplank. 

By this point, the musicians have lost track of any melody they once intended to play, distracted by the cries of birds and the screams of children and just the general disorder of the day. Georgi doesn’t seem to notice.

He descends from the ship with measured step. His fur cloak trails the ground behind him, threatening to drop off the edge and dip in the sea. One of his advisors dashes forward and gathers it up to prevent tragedy. 

The Duke is clad all in purple aside from the cloak. A gauzy violet shirt billows from beneath an equally alarming velvet waistcoat. Even his breeches are a spotty, water-stained lavender. It’s austentatious. It’s expensive. It’s also, frankly, lost on the people of Katsu, who don’t have the same associations to the color that someone in Nikiv might. Back home, this would make waves among nobles as Georgi flaunting great wealth. In Katsu, he simply looks like a strange, overripe fruit.

He makes his way along the docks with a cluster of staff in close pursuit. Victor wonders idly where the palace will even put them all. Will they all be sleeping on the ship every night? What a horrible thought.

When the Duke reaches the Katsukis, he goes to Queen Hiroko first, as is proper. He bends to kiss her hand, bowing so deeply that his cockscomb of dark hair must be brushing her robes. He then moves along to greet Crown Princess Mari, then Prince-Consort Toshiya. At last, he arrives in front of Yuuri.

Georgi sweeps his arms out to throw his cloak back as he declares, “My beautiful fiance! So lovely to see you again.”

Although Victor can’t see Yuuri’s face from where he stands, it’s impossible to miss the way his body stiffens as Georgi almost throws himself forward into a hug. Victor has his hand raised in an aborted move to do - what exactly? - when Georgi spots him over Yuuri’s shoulder and goes sheet white.

Victor turns the raised hand into an awkward wave as Georgi abruptly releases his grip on Yuuri.

“My liege,” Georgi stutters. He steps around the Katsukis to bow to Victor, and, when he spots Yura standing nearby, turns from white to bright pink. Behind him, his staff is practically seizing in panic. “What- What are you doing here?”

God, if only Victor could tell him. Chris raises an eyebrow at him from just over Georgi’s shoulder, and Victor pastes on his most serene smile. “Diplomatic mission,” he says sweetly. “You’ll understand if I can’t say anymore,” he gestures at the surrounding crowds and finishes, “ _Out here_.”

Georgi’s nod of understanding is so enthusiastic it causes the decorative chains around his neck to rattle. “Well,” he says, too loudly. “Welcome, welcome. I’m very glad you could join us to celebrate! We’ll have to talk more during the ball.” He turns back to Yuuri, offering his arm. “Shall we proceed to the castle, my dove?”

Yuuri accepts the arm and leads the way toward the hill and the castle beyond. He’s smiling, but his eyes, as he passes Victor, are blank. 

-

Victor’s best clothes are in the back of the wardrobe, where they’ve been since the day he arrived. He runs his hand over the textured brocade waistcoat, remembering how he fussed at the hem outside the castle, wanting to look his best when he asked permission to court Yuuri. 

He pulls the shirt and waistcoat from the closet and lays them both on the bed, then pauses to pick at a tray of fruit and cheeses which Yuuko had delivered to tide them over till the ball. 

It’s not the clothing’s fault, what’s happening, so he should probably stop staring at the shirt as if he can light it on fire with his eyes. 

He shrugs out of the things he wore to the docks. The linen is already stiffening beneath his fingers from the salty air. He discards it and pulls on the silk shirt instead. 

His fingers feel stiff too, heavy and reluctant against the small, fabric-covered buttons. 

The door whooshes open again and Chris enters.

Christophe is a wonderful diplomat. He’s excellent at pretending he doesn’t find Victor pathetic at moments like this.

His eyes are kind as he crosses the room and reaches for Victor’s waistcoat. “Let me help,” he says, and Victor would never decline the offer. He’s not the sort who asks his servants and subjects for help dressing, but sometimes there’s comfort in being waited on a little.

Chris’ hands are nimble on the buttons as he finishes fastening the shirt, then helps Victor into the vest.

“I want to apologize,” Chris says, just above a whisper. “For what I said earlier. Of course this trip has been hard on you as well, and I don’t mean to detract from that.”

“No.” Victor catches his hands, waiting until Chris meets his eyes. “You were right. I was focusing too much on myself. I knew you were upset, and I know you would have told me why if I’d bothered to _ask_.”

Chris smirks as he pulls away. “Oh, don’t go changing your whole personality on my account.” He winks, teasing, and sets back to work finishing the buttons.

The outer door clicks, and Yura stalks into the bedroom. He heaves himself onto the bed and buries his face in his arms with a sigh. 

Victor and Chris exchange concerned glances as Chris adjusts Victor’s shirt collar. This is one area where Chris had certainly been correct to chastise him. Victor’s barely spent time with Yura all week, and, while he understands why Yura felt the need to flee his responsibilities for a bit, they haven’t actually spoken about why he snuck on board the ship, or what he plans to do when they return.

“Yura,” Victor asks. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Yura mumbles into the sheets, not lifting his head. 

Victor waits for Chris to finishing fluffing the tie beneath his chin, then walks to the bed. He leans down and tucks a chunk of pale gold hair back behind Yura’s ear in an old familiar gesture from Yura’s childhood.

“I’ve been thinking,” Victor says, still tracing the shell of Yura’s ear. “After we return to Nikiv, would you like to stay and visit for a little while? I’m sure your grandfather is eager to have you back, but Yakov could use someone young around to shake him up again.”

Yura’s head bobs in silent agreement beneath Victor’s palm. 

Victor returns to the wardrobe, straightening his last errant hairs in the mirror. An arm appears around his shoulders in the reflection, and Chris squeezes him close.

“You’re going to be an excellent king,” Chris confides.

It’s a touching moment, at least until Chris’s arm drifts decidedly downwards to rest on Victor’s ass instead. Victor rolls his eyes, but it does put a smile on his face.

“Come on, then,” Chris says, with a parting pat. “Surely they can’t start the party without us?”

-

They can, and they have.

The ballroom is packed and vibrant. It’s barely recognizable as the same room Victor and Yuuri had practiced in a couple days prior now that the paint has been touched up and the walls decorated. 

Local musicians are playing traditional music on one side of the room, hauntingly beautiful and strange to Victor’s ears, while on the opposing wall tables are set with wine and small foods. Victor circles the table, unable to resist grabbing a bit of each sample, then retreats to a quiet corner.

In Nikiv, he’d be expected to work the room and make small talk with each aging noble so that none could accuse him of favoritism. Tonight, he needs to be in the room, but there’s no obligation to be social.

He leans against the wall where the edges of two lanterns meet, casting him into shadow, and sips his drink as he watches the people milling about. Chris is a figure of great popularity at the ball, fascinating the young nobles of Katsu. His golden curls stick out, since he stands a full head and shoulders taller than most of the locals. At the moment, he’s engaged in a very enthusiastic conversation with a young man who apparently talks with his entire body.

The Katsu musicians take a break, setting aside their instruments to find drinks of their own, and the group from Popov takes their place. Victor is dubious of the change at first, but it turns out they play with much more skill while sitting still than they do when disembarking a ship.

The band strikes up a brisk tune that’s been quite popular in the court at Nikiv recently. Ahead of Victor, there’s a part in the sea of people, and Yura comes slinking through the space, his narrow green eyes fixed on Victor.

“Come on,” he demands, sticking out his hand. “Let’s dance.”

“No, thank you,” Victor says. He takes a long sip from his strangely bitter drink. “I’m quite satisfied to watch tonight.”

But Yura seizes his elbow anyway, tugging him away from the wall and nearly spilling his glass. “What? Is the dance too new for you, or are you just tired because you’re old now?” He pauses for a second, watching Victor carefully, then adds, “Are you afraid that, if you leave the wall, all the guests will see your bald patch?”

“Okay, that’s it.” Victor plants his drink on the table nearby. “Yakov was right - you need a lesson in etiquette.”

He follows Yura out onto the dance floor, intending to indulge only in a brief swing around the room, perhaps show the locals a bit of how it’s done. Instead, the music catches his heart, as it so often does, and he only realizes much later, as he pauses to dab the sweat from his brow, that the song has changed. 

His breath is short from the energy of the new dances, but Yura is smiling up at him, and Victor finds that he’s smiling back. It’s the first time he’s seen Yura so animated in ages, but for once he’s not reminded of the boy Yura was, but the man he will be. His cousin’s hair is up, styled in a simple braid to free his eyes. When Yura moves, Victor can see how his sleeves creep up his wrists, revealing the growth he’s sped through just since his current suit of clothes was made. 

Victor feels his own time in Yura’s position suddenly fading back, so distant as to be unimportant. It’s Prince Yura’s time in the spotlight soon; time for Victor to find a new place for himself.

The musicians trade places again, and before Victor can excuse himself back to the wall, someone taps at his lower back, and he turns to find Queen Hiroko waiting, arms extended. Of course, he can’t refuse the queen.

Hiroko passes him to Mari, who in turn hands him over to Christophe on the next song. The music slows and Chris pulls Victor in closer than is strictly proper.

“Why Christophe,” Victor mock-gasps. “What will the old aunties say? Our hips are practically touching.”

“We’re not in Nikiv,” Chris says, dipping him. “The closest thing to an old auntie in here is Popovich’s advisors, and I hope they all drop dead of shock.”

Victor snorts unattractively as Chris yanks him back upright. “What if word gets back to your mystery man that we were behaving in a salacious manner? I’d hate to ruin your reputation.”

Chris grins. “Darling, we both know you’re far too late for that. I need a man who loves me _because_ of my bad reputation, not in spite of it.” 

A bit of sincerity slips through the banter for a moment as Victor tightens his grip on Chris’ arm. “I hope you’ve found him,” he murmurs.

When the song ends, the musicians trade again, and the group from Popov leads with a traditional partnered dance - one of the first dances Victor had learned as a child, in fact. It seems only appropriate when Chris spins Victor around and gently shoves him over to Minako.

This may be the first ball Victor has ever attended where he wasn’t required to dance with anyone who trod on his feet. It’s a beautiful experience. He had always loved dancing as a boy, even when Lilia was harsh with him or he struggled to learn the steps. It’s nice to be reminded that this can be about pleasure and getting to know someone, not just obligation and politesse. 

As the song ends, Victor leans in to thank Minako, but she pulls away before he can speak. Near the center of the room, a space has opened up. Over the heads of the assembly, Victor sees Yuuri standing on the edge of the circle, rubbing his palms along the front of his breeches over and over.

Across from him, Duke Popov removes his cape and passes it to one of his advisors. The band strikes the first notes, and Victor immediately recognizes the tune. For the rest of his life, he knows he will feel an itch in his feet when this song begins, and a tear in his heart. 

Just two days prior, he’d taught Yuuri this dance. Now, he’d be watching him honor another with the same steps.

It’s the same training Victor so often curses for making him inauthentic which now steels his spine and keeps his feet firm on the dance floor. Although his heart shrieks at him to leave and save himself the pain, another voice - sounding entirely too like Yakov for his comfort - reminds him that he must stay. This was his promise to Yuuri. For this final night, they are still friends.

As Georgi and Yuuri join hands, Victor withdraws. He keeps his face impassive and examines the techniques in their dance as if he were watching from some far-off place on the ceiling. 

Georgi is confident and collected from the first movement, smiling down at his fiance. He’s known this dance since childhood, just as Victor has. His steps are not precise, but he has the flair and ease that comes with years of practice.

Yuuri is more hesitant at first, almost shy. He fumbles a turn, but collects himself. His face is set and determined as he returns to the pattern and tries again. 

The pair spins once more, and the change of position brings Yuuri around. Over the heads of other courtiers, his eyes meet Victor’s.

Like jumping into a pond in the dead of winter with his clothes still on, the shock washes over Victor, and he lands back inside himself with a jolt that rocks him on his feet.

Yuuri’s eyes are wide over Georgi’s shoulder, as if the same rush of ice had hit him as well, and then he’s gone, spinning away in another direction. 

Victor claws at himself, looking to regain his distance, but he can’t. He’s here now, and he can’t pull himself away. The music picks up, and so does Yuuri’s confidence. He’s like a whirlwind on the dance floor, drawing out his movements. When he extends a hand to the crowd, there’s a beckoning little smirk that goes along with it, and Victor presses his nails into his palms to keep from stepping forward. His step is quick and light, and Victor even spares a moment of pity for Georgi as he catches a glimpse of his sweating face, makeup running as he struggles to keep up with Yuuri’s pace.

Traditionally, the dance should end with a sharp stop from the partners - elbows locked on one side and palms pressed together. Instead, when the music stops, Georgi stumbles to an awkward finish, and Yuuri is caught alone, arms wrapped around himself. 

There’s a long stretch of strangled silence. At last, someone begins to clap, and the ballroom amplifies the smattering of polite applause that follow.

Georgi grins and bows deeply, then puts an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders to wave to the crowd.

Yuuri shrugs his arm off. He steps away. 

“I can’t do this.”

In the break between songs, the gasps among the assembly are deafening.

The Duke’s arm drops to his side like the tendon has been cut. He stares at Yuuri, mouth hanging open. “What?” He searches Yuuri’s face. “You look pink. Are you feeling unwell? You should sit.”

“No.” Yuuri straightens, clasping his hands in front of him as he meets Georgi’s eyes. “I understand we have a contract, and that I am breaking it, but I’m in love with someone else.” He takes a deep breath, then adds. “I have been for some time. I’m sorry.”

Victor feels someone grabbing at his arm and looks down to find it’s him, unconsciously holding himself so tightly that it feels as though he might burst at the seams.

Yuuri isn’t looking at Victor, not at all, but the banked embers in his gaze are aflame as he squares his shoulders. “I’m prepared to accept the repercussions of my actions,” he says. “I only ask that they be aimed directly at me and not the people of Katsu, who are innocent.”

Georgi lunges forward, and Yuuri only has time to take half a step back before both his hands are caught up in Georgi’s own. “What?” he gasps. “Prince Katsuki, you’ve misunderstood me greatly! I am a great admirer of love. I _love_ love, and I would _never_ stand in the way of true romance!”

One of the duke’s advisors scuttles forward, looking like he’s just lost a good decade from his life, and begins to paw at Georgi’s arm, murmuring something too low to hear.

Georgi bats the nuisance away, then grabs Yuuri’s hands again. “Who is your love? Are they here tonight?” 

He turns, scanning the crowd, and then his eyes find Victor’s in the herd. It could be some look on Victor’s face that does it, or the way he holds himself, or it could just be the way that Victor is _there_ , in Katsu, for no real reason, but Victor can clearly see the moment that Georgi’s eyes shutter as he finds yet another moment in his life where Victor has stepped ahead of him to take the prize.

To Georgi’s credit, the reaction is but a flicker, and then the look of heartache is gone, replaced with a well-schooled smile as he extends one hand to Victor, palm up.

Victor might have still been too shocked to move if not for a well-placed pinch from Minako which sends him stumbling forward. The crowd parts ahead of him, creating a path straight to the center of the room. 

His insides are in turmoil as excitement wars with apprehension in his breast. All those years of training on etiquette and courtship, but none of it prepared him for _this_. The emotions are such a clamor of conflicting impulses, they drown each other out and leave him quiet, numb. 

When he reaches the center of the circle, he places his hand in Georgi’s. He isn’t looking at Yuuri - can’t, not right now - and only focuses on the warmth of the hand in his as Georgi raises both arms overhead, hoisting Yuuri and Victor’s hands in the air.

“It appears,” he declares. “That today is a happy day to celebrate an engagement.”

The gathering bursts into enthusiastic applause, and Victor even hears a few familiar whistles and screams mixed in. Then, Georgi lowers their joined hands and pulls them in, and now it’s Yuuri’s hand, palm to palm against his own.

Victor stares down at their hands and squeezes gently, expecting it all to vanish in a puff of smoke beneath his fingers. But the flesh is firm beneath his hand, and the fingers interlace with his own, returning the squeeze.

Finally, he slides his gaze up from the wrist to the arm it’s attached to, then follows the line up until he finds his own image reflected in Yuuri’s eyes, brown and shining and now glistening with tears. Victor own eyes burn in response, and he can’t stop the tiny, choked laugh that breaks from his lips as it sinks in how ridiculous this is - he finally got what he wanted, and now he’s crying _again_.

He’s dimly aware as, off to the side, Mari comes forward to take Georgi’s arm and tugs him away. He hears part of a quiet comment - something about a nice thing the duke has done for her brother, and then Yuuri tugs on his hand, bringing them together. 

Victor’s arm finds Yuuri’s waist as easy as dancing, and they press their foreheads together, laughing through helpless tears. 

Someone clears their throat loudly behind them, and they break apart to find Queen Hiroko smiling up at them, her fists planted on her hips. “Excuse me,” she interrupts. “But as I recall, I never did grant you my blessing when you asked to court my son.”

Hiroko’s cheery demeanor bleeds through her attempt to look stern at every corner, but if there’s one thing Victor understands in this whole mess, it’s a cue to play along. He drops to a kneel, trading Yuuri’s hand for his mother’s, and presses a kiss to her knuckles.

“Queen Hiroko Katsuki,” he begins, then pauses to dab at his eyes with his shirt cuff. “May I please have your blessing to marry your incredible son?”

The smile that lights up her face at the question seems to illuminate her whole body, and she bounces a little on her toes as she squeezes his hand and answers, “I look forward very much to having _two_ incredible sons!”

Yuuri rushes past Victor, throwing himself into his mother’s embrace. Victor watches them as Yuuri rests his cheek on Hiroko’s head, and for the first time since he arrived, he feels a stab of longing for his own home. He wants to see his own mother embrace Yuuri like this.

When Hiroko and Yuuri break apart, Victor can’t stop himself from rushing forward, gathering Yuuri up in his own arms again and watching as the light dusting of rose spreads over his cheeks in response. _God_. It’s going to a long time before Victor can resist taking every opportunity to touch _his fiance_ , isn’t it?

“A kiss!” Chris’ familiar voice calls out over the din of gossip and chatter. “A kiss to seal the contract!”

Victor looks down at Yuuri for permission, and watches as he turns even more scarlet. He drops his gaze from Victor’s, as if struck once more with shyness, but nods his assent. 

It only takes the barest dip of his head to bring their lips together for the first time. Victor is twenty-eight years old, no callow youth, but never before has a simple, chaste kiss pushed such a rush of tingling, bubbling affection and _possibility_ from his cheeks down to the base of his spine.

-

Victor’s reputation as a clothes horse is well established in the castle halls of Nikiv. When he returns, whispers of how long he took to pack for the journey to Katsu are sure to dog his steps. 

Still, his pace while packing to _leave_ feels slower than snowfall.

Someone taps at his door, and he jerks as if waking from a dream. He’s standing midway between the wardrobe and his luggage, a vest balled up in his fists. He feels himself flush with guilt. He was meant to be packing clothes, but the thoughts keep catching him - the thoughts, the dreams, and the glint of light reflecting off the gold band now wrapped around his finger.

The tapping starts again, and Victor clears his throat to call, “Come in!”

The door slides open just a bit, and Yuuri’s head pokes through. “Ah, good morning,” he stutters before pushing the door open enough to step through. 

“Good morning, Yuuri.” Victor’s smile at the sight of Yuuri feels fit to overwhelm his features. He can sense the incipient laugh lines starting to furrow into his face already, but if this is what gives him wrinkles, he’ll take them with gratitude. 

Yuuri comes in and sits on the bed. He doesn’t meet Victor’s eyes, nor return his smile, and Victor’s heart sinks as he packs away his vest and returns to the wardrobe for the next item.

Does Yuuri regret their engagement already? They may have rushed into things a bit. Maybe, with everyone watching at the ball, Yuuri felt pressured into being with Victor. 

Victor swallows the apprehension rising in his throat as he packs his trunk, then rises to look at Yuuri. His fiance is very still, seated on the edge of the bed with his hands folded and eyes downcast.

“Yuuri,” Victor murmurs. “Is this too much for you? We could wait, if you’d rather, or, if you-” he pauses to gather himself before finishing, “If you’d rather just be friends after all-”

Yuuri looks up at that, interrupting with a loud, “No!”

Victor can only watch in surprise as Yuuri stands and steps forward, then takes Victor’s hand in both his own. “I’ve been following every bit of news about you since I was a kid,” he confesses as he interlaces their fingers. His own matching band clicks against Victor’s. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but… like I said before, I’m not good with pressure. I’m worried I’ll disappoint you.”

Victor pulls Yuuri over for a hug, and Yuuri comes to him like a wave reaching for the shore. They fit so easily together, and Victor can’t resist laying his head on Yuuri’s shoulder. “I have a hard time imagining that,” he whispers.

He feels Yuuri shiver as Victor’s lips brush his neck when he speaks. Yuuri’s hands clutch tighter on Victor’s waist. “It wasn’t too much?” he asks. “The ball and everything? The way I treated you all week and then to…” he trails off and muffles an agonized groan into Victor’s shoulder.

Victor pulls back just enough to see Yuuri’s face, brushing his black hair back from his face. “You certainly surprised me,” Victor admits, smiling as he presses their foreheads together. “But, luckily for you, I love surprises.”

It’s even more fascinating up close, watching the ruddy tinge slowly spread across the tops of Yuuri’s cheeks. His dark lashes flutter closed, and then Yuuri tilts his head up, his lips seeking Victor’s for the second time. _Oh._ Yuuri is surprising him again.

Someone coughs pointedly, and they part, both flushed at getting caught. 

“Save it for the wedding,” Chris says. He’s standing in the door, hipshot and smirking. “Is this why you’re taking so long to pack? Some of us would like to get home this year, you know.”

“Sorry,” Victor says. “I’m a bit distracted today.”

“I’m sure,” Chris drawls, winking at Yuuri. He steps into the room, goes over to the wardrobe, and gathers up all the remaining clothes in a bundle. Then he walks over to the trunk and drops the lump inside. 

“There,” he says. “You’re done packing.”

Victor scowls, bending to grab one of his shirts. “You haven’t stored them properly, Chris. You know better than this. They’ll be a mess.”

“Yes,” Chris says. “And I’m sure all the sailors aboard the ship will judge you for your wrinkled shirts.” He kicks the trunk lid closed, nearly catching Victor’s fingers when it snaps shut. “As much as I’d love to at times, I can’t actually allow the ship to leave without you. We need to go.”

Chris gestures, and two sailors enter from the outer chambers, hauling Victor’s chest out the door with them. 

Yuuri catches his hand again, and Victor raises it to his lips, pressing a kiss on the thin gold ring. “Safe travels,” Yuuri says. 

“I think I can only make myself leave now in the hope that it will make our reunion come sooner,” Victor confesses.

Chris groans. “You’re only going to be apart for two weeks,” he says. “Please. God help the castle staff if this is a preview of your moping, Victor. Come along, and you too,” he nods to Yuuri. “You’ll want to see the ship off, I’m sure.”

Victor follows in Chris’ wake, Yuuri’s hand still warm and firm against his own, and only looks back to watch as Yuuko comes to close up the guest rooms behind him. 

-

_Dear Mama and Papa,_

_Thank you for the very thorough letter. I’m happy to hear that Yuuko’s girls are doing so well in their lessons. I was a little surprised to read in your message about Mari and Duke Popovich, but I guess it makes sense in some way. I wish them all the best. Victor says to tell Mari that she’ll be good for Georgi, whatever that means._

_It’s a bit chilly in Nikiv still, but I’m settling in. Vicchan, with his fur coat, isn’t bothered by the weather at all. He’s becoming quite spoiled with all the huge hallways here to run around in, and I can’t seem to stop the kitchen staff from slipping him treats.  
Victor has done an excellent job of showing me around the castle and leading me around so I don’t get lost. It’s a bit unnecessary, honestly - I know my own way around just fine, but I can’t bring myself to decline the escort when he offers._

_Everything is different here. Sometimes, I miss home and the warmth of the gardens and the sea. I also miss the food, but I think Victor feels the same way on that one. He’s hoping to find someone who can instruct Dina, the cook, on Katsu cuisine before the wedding. I think he feels even more strongly about it than I do._

_In spite of all the chaos that lead to this, thank you for supporting me as always. It’s still new and strange, but right now I think I’m happy. I hope you’re happy as well._

_I look forward to seeing you all at the wedding._

_Your loving son,  
Prince Yuuri Katsuki_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for accompanying me on this journey! I hope you had a good time. This closes out this series for the foreseeable future, but you can find me on August 18th in the pages of [YOI Litmag](https://yoilitmag.tumblr.com/) issue two, and then in late September in the [Domestic Otayuri Zine](https://domesticotayurizine.tumblr.com/) as well as updating my other WIP, [On Man's Road](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14215761).

**Author's Note:**

> You can check out my [Tumblr](http://louciferish.tumblr.com). Sometimes I post previews of current WIPs, or open up prompts.


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